Logan's Lady
by flashymom
Summary: Judith Edwards is a crime novelist.  She meets Mike Logan and decides he's romance novel material.  Can she convince him to live it out with her?  Tie-in with author's other stories.
1. Chapter 1

I don't own Mike Logan, Robert Goren, or any other L&O/L&O:CI characters. My sincerest thanks to Dick Wolf, et al for creating the most wonderful characters to play with. I promise to return them unharmed!

**Logan's Lady Chapter One**

She walked into the bar and looked around.

_She walked into the bar?_ Seriously? Did I really just write one of the most cliché opening lines ever? What is wrong with me and where did that come from?

_Unfortunately, I know the answers to both of those questions_, I think bitterly as I hit the backspace key and delete the world's greatest cliché from the page.

_He_ is what is wrong with me, and that opening line came from my own personal experience: what I did the night I met _him_.

I happen to be a very successful writer, having churned out ten New York Times bestseller list top 10 books over the last eleven years; two of which even made Oprah's Book Club list.

My family doesn't see me as successful. They think I'm lazy and spend all day sitting around on my butt. They fail to realize how much work goes into one of my books. I research everything obsessively. I decide on the story's main arc, then plan out each character and how he or she fits into the arc. I have several characters so well-developed that they practically write themselves.

My main character, the "star" of my ten books, is a Detective with the NYPD. He's loosely based around one of my best friends from high school who decided he wanted to be a police officer when he grew up. Jason went straight into the police academy after graduation, spent three years as a beat cop, kept taking classes at the academy, and requested a move to the Vice Squad. He was brutally gunned down by a drug dealer on his second night with Vice. I write in his memory, and for the memory of all fallen police everywhere.

He left behind a wife, one of my oldest and dearest childhood friends. She was 6 months pregnant with their first child, a son. We named him after his father. Ten percent of every book's profit goes to her. It's the least I can do for my god child and his mother: one of the strongest women I know.

Because of him, I found three of his fellow cops who would talk to me about everything it takes to be a cop, especially a cop in a city like New York. That was the start of a strange and wonderful set of friendships that are now going on twelve years of joys and sorrows, highs and lows, insights into police work and insights into the lives of police spouses. Through them I have gone deep inside the police academy, the training facilities, their hearts and their minds. Through them I have seen the inside of a Rikers jail cell, spent the night in The Tombs, and plumbed the depths of the criminal mind, the innocent and the guilty alike. Through them I have witnessed countless autopsies and questioned several medical examiners, learned forensics, and practiced on the shooting range. Through them, I have become successful. Through them I have lived.

Or so I thought.

The bar I walked into, the bar where _he_ was, was one I frequented regularly when I was researching a book. My forays into "cop bars" always landed me one or two old friends, and one or two new ones, all in law enforcement, all eager to talk, all in need of someone to listen. Buy me a drink and I'll let you talk my ear off. I'm cheaper than a therapist, as long as you let me take notes and ask questions.

_Him_.

I sigh.

Realizing there will be no more words flowing from mind to fingers to computer screen as long as I continue thinking of him, I stand and stretch. I save my work and go to bed. I sleep. And I dream of him.

Morning brings a day of research. When I first thought of writing a crime novel to honor Jason's memory, I was terrified of failure. So terrified that I planned out every last detail before I ever started writing.

I begged Jason's former partner to give me several "ride-alongs", as well as get me an audience with police academy instructors. I had to sell Nathan on the story, its concept and basic storyline before he would agree to help me. I pestered him with so many questions I thought he was going to shoot me to put himself out of misery. Surprisingly, he answered every one with great patience, providing more insight and details than I could possibly use. I took copious notes as well as recorded our conversations. I did the same with everyone I talked to. By the time I was done researching and note-taking and listening to interviews over and over and over, I felt like I was a police officer myself.

When I finally began to write, the words just flowed out of my brain, through my fingers and into the computer as if by magic. I found it hard to stop as the story seemed to write itself. I had so thoroughly developed my main character that he took on a life of his own, filling my thoughts, occupying every spare inch of space in my brain, even appearing in my dreams. Scenes for the book would suddenly unfold in my mind and I couldn't wait to grab my laptop and start writing, for fear the images and scenes would be gone by the time I could start to let them out.

All my hard work paid off.

A college friend was a junior account executive at a publishing house and she agreed to take a look at my manuscript. Before she was even done reading the first chapter she was in her boss's office, exclaiming over my work. The two of them sat in his office until after midnight, spellbound, reading every word.

The first thing words out of her mouth when I answered the phone the next morning were, "When's the next story going to be done?"

My formula and my leading man were successful. I write every book the same way. Why mess with a good thing?

Now, it's nearly twelve years later and she is a full account executive and my personal editor and publisher; her boss is a vice president. My books have made us more money than we could possibly ever spend in our lifetimes. My lead character, Adam Dalton, is about to become a movie star. My parents have finally accepted that what I do for a living is a valid occupation. My life is perfect.

Or, so it would seem.

But, I'm lonely.

My best friend in the whole entire world, my little sister, my glorious ray of sunshine, was brutally murdered three months ago. Her storybook life was ended horrendously by a slighted man who had an unrequited crush on her. She left behind a wonderful husband and the cutest, brightest little boy in the world.

In a weirdly twisted way, her murder is the reason I met _him_ in the first place. I mean, he was there, in that bar, with my brother-in-law, when I walked in. He was protecting my brother in law from anonymous threats against his mother and his family. He took my breath away. He still hasn't given it back to me.

I sigh and force myself to focus on my research. But, do I really want to write another installment in the thrilling saga that is the life of Detective Adam Dalton? It's not like there isn't plenty of material out there for me to use. Crazy things happen in the world, some you can't make up. Usually all I have to do is read the paper and ask myself, "What would Adam do?" to get my creative juices flowing. My computer is full of all sorts of scenes. The common thread between them all is Adam fighting crime; he gets a case, he works the case, he solves the case. Sometimes along the way there is romance (he currently has a girlfriend), sometimes there is conflict (he also currently has an ex-wife), sometimes there is death (he lost his partner of 6 years in the first paragraph of my latest book). I don't think I'll ever run out of things to write for Adam. What I'm running out of is the desire to write them.

My desires are turning elsewhere at the moment. Like towards a certain 6 foot 3 inch, brown eyed, sexy man. A man who I don't think realizes just exactly how sexy he can be. He knows he's good looking; he knows that women are attracted to him; I know that stuff doesn't bother him. Now, that's not to say he doesn't notice the ladies back, especially the pretty ones, or appreciate them, because he does; that's not the sexy I'm talking about. What I'm talking about is that in his quiet moments, when no one is looking, or when he's focused on his work, he can just be so damn devastatingly sexy it hurts.

But again, I digress. He makes it very hard to focus on my writing. I keep wanting to write about him, about us. I've never written in first person before, or autobiographically, but when I write about him, and us, it seems more like the journaling we were forced to do in high school English class, except that the words just seem to flow naturally out of my fingers. Like it wants to be put on paper; like it needs to be told.

So, I think I'll put my book on hold for a while, and just let these other words out.

I guess that means I won't be researching the black market trade in bear gall and bear paws to South Korea and China, or poaching, or diamond smuggling, or figuring out how that all ties into the murder of a 6 year old girl in Queens and becomes Adam's toughest case to date.

Which is okay by me; I'd much rather research Detective Studmuffin.

I look at my watch. We are supposed to meet for lunch today; he said he'd call by 10 to finalize arrangements. It's now 8:45; I have just enough time to shower, primp, preen and wait by the phone.

I bolt for the bathroom and turn on the hot water. Twenty minutes and much pampering later, I immerge from the shower and wrap myself in a big, fluffy towel. I wrap my long, thick red hair in another towel and hustle nervously to the kitchen to check the answering machine. Just in case he called early, while I was in the shower, and I missed it.

Nothing. The red light on the machine stares, unblinking, back at me. I don't know whether to feel nervous or relieved.

Nervous wins out.

Lately, nervous seems to win out all the time when it comes to him. I keep telling myself it's stupid, really, to feel this way about someone, but I can't help it. It's like my heart and my emotions have minds of their own. His smile sends my pulse racing. Hell, the memory of his smile sends my pulse racing. Every time I call him, I get butterflies in my stomach, a massive case of nerves, like a school girl; part of me can't wait for him to answer so that I can hear his smooth, deep voice in my ear again; part of me doesn't want him to answer so that I don't make a fool of myself trying to be calm, cool and collected.

Oh, who am I kidding? When it comes to him, I don't think I'll ever be calm, cool and collected.

He's very easy to talk to, and even though I want to rip his clothes off and have wild monkey sex with him, there's no sense of urgency. He turns me on and makes me feel safe all at the same time. It's a strangely intoxicating mix of emotions. I've never been with a man who makes me feel that all is right with the world and that sex with him would be the utmost lovemaking experience I've ever had. And yet, I'm dying to get to know him better before I jump into bed with him. And that's also something new for me.

I can't wait to find out where this is headed.

I pad back to the bathroom and dry my hair. I lotion my body, apply my makeup and put on my clothes. I pick out shoes and jewelry. At the last minute, I decide to brush my teeth. As I finish rinsing my mouth, the phone rings.

It's him. Oh. My.

Work has him heading to So-Ho to meet with an art gallery owner. He is a former NYPD detective who now works for the Wainwright Association as their Assistant Director of Security. As such, he goes around the city meeting with various business owners and managers and arranging security and logistics for special events that the Wainwright Winery will be involved in. Lately, as I mentioned earlier, most of his job is providing personal protection for Trey Wainwright, my brother-in-law. I worry about him and Trey; they are under threat of a bomb going off at the City Center theatre during the Wainwright Foundation's annual "Evening on Broadway" fundraiser gala.

It's a terrifying thought, a bomb going off in a building you're in, possibly killing off your family, hurting you, or worse, killing you. Trey handles it with great aplomb. I've asked him a time or two how he's holding up under all this pressure; he says he's fine, but I'm not sure. I don't know if he'll ever be truly fine again now that my sister is gone from his life. I don't know that I'll be truly fine, either.

Back to So-Ho. We decide on a place and time to meet and hang up. I check my watch again. I have plenty of time to run several errands on my way to the bistro. I grab my favorite lipstick and my hairbrush and drop them into my purse. I grab my cell phone off its charger, scoop up the outgoing mail and head out the door.

It is now lunch time and I'm walking towards the bistro. The sidewalk is littered with the typical lunchtime crowd one expects to find in a neighborhood like So-Ho. The weather is surprisingly clear for early November, despite the chill, and I wonder if the owner has put tables out on the sidewalk as I draw my collar closed with one hand and cling tightly to my purse with the other.

The crowd thins slightly and I see the red and blue striped umbrellas typical of the sidewalk tables in front of the bistro. The crowd parts even more, and there he is. He has chosen one of the outdoor tables. His back is to the wall, his eyes alert to the crowds passing in front of him. Ever the cop, his brain is analyzing everyone who crosses his line of vision. He is dressed in jeans, crisp white button down, plaid tie, blue sport coat.

He sips his drink as his gaze begins to move back in my direction. Our eyes meet, gazes lock; my breath catches in my throat and I force myself to smile widely and keep walking towards him, even though my initial response is to stop in my tracks and stare idiotically at him, still in disbelief that he is even interested in me.

His face softens and his mouth slides slowly into the sexiest, lopsided grin that lights up his whole face. I know his smile is sincere; even his eyes smile when he sees me. That is something I can't get over, either – his sincerity towards me. It is genuine and heartfelt and I have never gotten it so strongly from any other man I have ever known or been interested in, with the exception of my father, my brother and my brother-in-law. I'm not worthy.

Before we move onto lunch, I'm afraid I need to digress and explain a few things here before I lose you completely. I'm no slouch of a woman and I know it. I've been described as luscious, curvy, sexy, pretty, gorgeous; a red-headed Marilyn Monroe. I know the effect I have on a man; I've known since I was 12. I'm not unaware that I turn heads whenever I walk into a room; I'm not unaware that other women are jealous of my figure. I'm a fabulous size 8; soft in all the right places, full where needed yet firm and well-toned. I have deep red hair, thick and full, with just the right amount of natural wave and curl to make a man go crazy with the need to dive in and run his fingers through it. My voice is husky like Kathleen Turner's or Lauren Bacall's. My skin is the kind of peaches and cream complexion that women spend thousands at the dermatologist and plastic surgeon for; I come by it naturally. In short, I'm what some call a "man killer". I'm also 33 years old and still single.

Yet the man now standing up as I near his table on the sidewalk is so good-looking, so sexy, he seems out of my league. But, he chooses me. He wants to be with me. He claims he wants to get to know me better and comes across as honest when he says it.

I return his smile as I reach the table. He gently places his hand on my shoulder and warmly kisses my cheek as he says hello. He pulls out my chair. He never takes his eyes off me.

"You look beautiful, Judith," he tells me softly.

"Thank you, Mike," I answer in return.

I notice he has ordered me water and a Diet Coke.

"Thank you," I tell him as I sip the soda.

"You're welcome," he responds warmly. I get goose bumps. "How was your morning?"

"Okay. I didn't get any research done on my book, but it's no big deal. I don't have much interest in writing another Dalton book right now anyway." I shrug. "I think I'm going to write something different."

I look him square in the eyes as I go on. "I think I'm going to write a romance novel. Something very erotic." I wait for his response.

He chokes on his drink and sputters. I notice the blush spreading up from his neck line to his jaw line and smile coyly. I suggestively raise one eyebrow, open my lips slightly and touch my tongue to my teeth; my gaze never leaves him. His eyes widen and he appears as though he has just swallowed his tongue.

"Are you serious?"

"Yes."

"But…why?"

I shrug again. "I don't know. I've always wanted to and decided now was as good a time as any." I wasn't about to tell him it was because of him; that I wanted to write down everything that I've been imagining doing to him and him to me since that first night we met. I force myself to maintain my coy composure and leave the ball in his court.

"Well," he says. He straightens himself, messes with re-aligning everything in front of him on the table; he can no longer meet my gaze. He is clearly flustered. I am clearly enjoying myself.


	2. Chapter 2

Logan's Lady Chapter 2

Later that afternoon, I sit down at the kitchen table and began to type. Words flow unbidden as I rewrite that corny cliché first line, only this time, I don't panic and I don't backspace. I go on. I describe how he looked. I describe how I felt. I even recount our first conversation. I was having an angry set-to with my brother in law, Trey, when he walked up and asked if everything was all right.

_ "Ron Dawson, this is Stephanie Anders, Laura's sister. Stephanie, Ron Dawson." _(I changed everyone's names as well as decided to take artistic license with details, too. Can't be too obvious that this is really about him and me, now can I?)

_ "Pleased to meet you," Ron said, extending his hand._

_"The pleasure is all mine," Stephanie purred in response. As she placed her hand in his, her body language changed from one of defense to one of extreme sensuality._

_ "Are we done here," she pointedly asked Stewart. Her eyes were still firmly fixed on Ron and she was still holding his hand._

_Stewart sighed and rolled his eyes. "Yes, we're done here," he said disdainfully._

_He reached out and tried to untangle Ron's hand from Stephanie's grip. "I think we should return to our group now, don't you," he asked Ron firmly._

_"You go on back. I think I'll stay here and get to know Stephanie a little better," he said, while gazing appreciatively over her luscious figure. "You gonna be safe getting home?"_

_"I'll be fine," Stewart groused. "I'll get Richard to drop me off. Be careful, Ron; she's dangerous," Stewart tossed out that last bit as he began to push his way back through the crowd toward the rest of the group._

_"Danger is my middle name," Ron's voice oozed as he stepped closer to Stephanie._

_"Well," she exclaimed as she finally released his hand. She placed her arm on his and began to tease his ear with her fingertips. "What exactly does Ron "Danger" Dawson do?"_

_"I'm a police detective."_

_Stephanie smiled coyly and leaned in closer to Ron. "I love police officers. They're my favorite kind of man; all brave and courageous and adventuresome. You got your handcuffs on you? I can do all sorts of tricks with a pair of handcuffs," she said suggestively._

_Ron laughed. "Really? Well, I'm sorry I left mine in my glove compartment. I suppose you'd like to fondle my gun, too?"_

_ Now it was Stephanie's turn to laugh. _

_ "Would you like to dance," Stephanie asked impulsively._

_ "I would love to dance," Ron said as he glanced around, "but there's not much room here and that's not really what folks who come to Randy's usually do."_

_"I know. There's a great place not far from here. If you're up to it," she challenged playfully._

_Ron stared intently at her. Stephanie stared just as intently back. Finally, Ron chuckled and grinned. "Lady, you're on. Let's go."_

_Stephanie smiled smugly as she led Ron towards the door and out into the cool night air._

I described in great detail how wonderful dancing with him was. We fit perfectly together and moved as one; the faster songs were just as much fun as the slow ones were nice. He didn't know how to line dance and I never laughed so hard in my life as I did while trying to teach him the Cupid Shuffle. Our conversation had flowed easily and I included bits and pieces of it as I wrote. I don't want the story to be completely autobiographical, more like loosely autobiographical.

I start to play with Stephanie and Ron, deciding that she received roses at work the next day from him.

Now, where should they be delivered?

When I was a little girl, I wanted to be a famous fashion designer, so I'll have Stephanie working at a famous design house….her design house….let's see…hmmm…I got it! Her design house that she owns with her best friend…Rachel. I've always liked that name, so Rachel it is. I jot all these thoughts down in my notebook so I won't forget those details later.

_ The next morning, Ron has two dozen long-stemmed red roses delivered to Stephanie's office._

Yes, this is fun I realize as I save my work, stand and stretch.

When I was 14, I fell off a horse and broke my back. Ever since, I have to limit my sitting to no more than 2 – 3 hours at a stretch. If I have to travel overseas, I take a night flight and a very strong sleeping pill to help me survive. An awesome physical therapist taught me some moves and stretches to loosen my back, and I still do them every day.

After my stretching, I decide I need food. A refrigerator raid yields lunch meat, baby spinach, a tomato and some Swiss cheese. I load as much as I can onto a slice of bread, warm it in the microwave, top it with another slice of bread, snag a soda and head to the living room.

As I eat, I decide I need to research romantic writing, so I flip around the TV channels and find a romance movie and settle in. I pay attention to the story line, its ebb and flow, the way the characters interact, how they fall in love. There's almost always conflict in the beginning, but not in this movie. This movie was sweet and gentle with the couple as they fell in love. It was only after they let their families know they were dating that the problems began. As the movie flowed towards its obvious ending – crisis resolved, declarations of love, promises of happily ever after – I was riveted. The sex scenes were more of the "fade to black" variety, but their first kiss was hot! I flipped around a few more channels and found "9 1/2 Weeks". Now THERE was a sex movie! Very erotic; it gave me lots of great ideas for Ron and Stephanie. I mulled everything over in my head for a while and then decided I needed to sleep on it. I have done my best work when I let my brain simmer and stew overnight.

Sure enough, I awake with a brain full of thoughts and images and conversations between Stephanie and Ron. The one that writes itself first is a very intimate moment that nearly causes my computer to overheat and explode! It involves ice cubes and a bear skin rug and a mind-blowing orgasm. It turns out to be quite detailed and very descriptive, and by the time I am finished, I find myself turned on. Who knew? I mean, I had gotten turned on before from _reading_ "smut" novels, but never knew that writing those scenes could be so…so…_arousing._

A sharp knock on my door startles me and I jump. I realize that I am still wearing the same oversized t-shirt and boy-briefs I had slept in. A glance over at the clock on the stove tells me the time: 11 am.

Whoever is on the other side of my door knocks again; harder this time, and longer. I realize the knock is very firm, almost masculine.

Masculine. Him!

I shiver when I hear his muffled voice call my name through the door.

"Coming." I rise and make my way, unsteadily, nervous and more than just a little embarrassed, towards the front door.

"Just a minute," I fumble with the locks and chain.

Wordlessly, I pull open the door.

Our eyes meet. His gaze leaves mine to make a quick sweep up and down my body, and when his eyes meet mine again, his are slightly bemused. He studies my face, my cheeks still feeling slightly flushed from the arousal my writing had caused, my hair still tousled from having not been brushed all morning; his eyebrows raise in silent question.

Without answering him, I step back and open the door. He slips past me and, spying my laptop on the kitchen table, makes a bee line for it. I am too stunned to speak.

"Please don't look at it…please don't look at it," I beg silently as I shut the door and lean back against it.

Last time he came over and I was writing, he had marched over to the table, closed the laptop and declared that he was getting me out of my cave and taking me to the park. He claimed the day was been too pretty to be cooped up indoors. What transpired with him that day became one of my favorite scenes in my story so far when I sat down to write later that night.

Today, however, he glances at the monitor screen before he closes it. Double-take, stare. I see his eyes move as he reads. I notice them widen as he realizes what he is reading. He sits, taps the keys, holds one down briefly, then starts reading again. I watch his face as he reads the very intimate, very detailed love-making scene I just finished writing. I see his skin flush; I see him shift in the chair. I notice the change in his breath, the color of his eyes, the rate of his pulse in the vein on his neck. Inwardly I rejoice in his discomfort and arousal as he removes his tie and loosens his collar.

When he is finished, he says nothing. He saves my work before closing the laptop and looking up at me. He holds my gaze steady, his eyes like hot brown lasers on mine. They are asking me what I want. Defiantly, I push off the door and stand straight.

He pushes the chair back from the table and turns it slightly away, then signals me to come over with his long, graceful finger. His face is emotionless but for the sparks flashing in his eyes.

I stop in front of him. His legs are slightly apart, and I stand with my feet together between his.

Wordlessly, he gently turns me around and pulls me onto his lap.

I gasp sharply when my buttocks make contact with his thighs and I feel his erection bulging in his pants. Since my face is away from his, I smile coyly. Even men get turned on by this stuff, I think smugly to myself.

Is this what I want?

Before the thought is fully formed and my mind can piece together an answer, he reaches around my head with his right hand and slowly pulls my hair away from my left ear and the left side of my neck around to my right. His head dips, mine leans to the right, and his lips make the ever so barest contact on my skin. Like a whisper, his lips skim over the sensitive skin on my neck. I try so very hard not to move, to just breathe and feel and be.

My head rolls slightly back to rest on his strong broad shoulder and he shifts ever so slightly. My body falls into place against his like the last piece in a jigsaw puzzle and I sigh, long and deep. I hear him chuckle, feel it rumble in his broad chest as I lean back against him.

He begins to kiss and lick my skin, his hot tongue flicking over my skin, causing bolts of electricity to shoot through my body. He is electrifying and I am on fire.

Once more his hand moves. This time he gently lifts my hair off my neck. His lips travel to the newly exposed area of skin. He begins again with the whisper-soft lips skimming over my skin.

I moan audibly and my head falls forward. His strong left arm quickly snakes around my waist and holds me firmly on his lap. His lips part and his tongue begins to firmly run up and down my spine. The strength of the physical sensation that suddenly surges through my body causes me to jump slightly and grab the side of his thigh with one hand, his arm with the other. I'm panting, hard, now. My stomach muscles are tightening, my thighs are contracting; my hands are balling and unballing, grabbing the fabric of his pants, the strong muscles of his arm. I feel like I'm heading for an orgasm as he continues making love to my neck. When his hot, strong, wet tongue dips below the neckline of my shirt, I DO explode. My orgasm is a cataclysm of light exploding behind my tightly shut eyelids. My back arches and my body bucks as I climax, hard.

He repeats the action, bringing on another, slightly smaller, but still incredible, orgasm.

Five, or was it six? I don't know; I lost count after three. Anyway, after my body finally quits climaxing, I collapse back against his strong chest. His fingers softly stroke my abdomen; his other hand rubs up and down my arm. He is raining kisses on my neck and cheek.

My breathing begins to slow, my heartbeat begins to lessen.

"How are you," a deep, low voice asks quietly in my ear.

"Mmmmm…." I exhale deeply and smile dreamily.

He chuckles.

I stretch my arms up over my head, then twist myself so that I am now sitting across his lap. I encircle his neck with my arms and meet his gaze shyly. For some reason, I find myself embarrassed by the strength of my reaction to his kisses.

"And just think, that was merely foreplay."

My eyes widen at the weight of his words.

He slides his hand up to the back of my neck and kisses me full and firm on the mouth.

"You need to get cleaned up," he says with a twinkle in his eye.

He laughs again at the confusion on my face.

"We have a lunch date," he pointedly reminds me.

"Oh," I answer dumbly.

"Oh," I repeat, exclaiming strongly as I remember: we are supposed to be meeting my brother and his fiancé for lunch today.

"I…uh…" I leap from his lap, moving around frantically. My brain is mush and can't make much sense out of what just happened between us; it was definitely more than physical, and he knows it. He seems amused at my current state of mind and I just want to smack him for it.

"Why don't you go take a shower? It'll calm your brain," he says, rising to stand in front of me. He turns me towards my bedroom and gives me a gentle push. "Put on something sexy," he purrs.

I manage to glower at him over my shoulder as I head towards the hallway.

His laughter follows me down the hall.

Lunch with William is wonderful. Sally, his fiancée, is cute and bubbly and madly in love with him. They make a striking couple and it is obvious that these two are right for each other. I'm so happy for William.

I keep glancing at the man sitting next to me and wondering if he and I could ever be like William and Sally. I find it hard to focus on the conversation, due to my brain (and my body) continually going back to relive the events that had transpired barely an hour before in my living room. It doesn't help any that Mike keeps brushing my thigh with his hand, gently placing his arm around my shoulders, even holding my hand on top of the table. He is boldly "marking his territory" to every man in the restaurant, and clearly loving every moment of my discomfiture.

William shot me several pointed glances during lunch, so as I hug him goodbye in the parking lot, I promise to call him that evening.

I just have to hug Sally as well. I've loved her for William since the first time I met her and am so happy they are getting married. Now that they are engaged, I make her promise to keep me in the loop and tell me every detail of the wedding plans. I also promise her that I will throw her a bridal shower and we need plan to have lunch, just the two of us, to discuss it.

On the drive home, I realize just how well William and Mike had gotten along. It seemed to me that they genuinely liked and respected each other from the moment they met. That was unusual for me, as William had generally reacted negatively towards any male I had introduced to him. Until now. Until Mike.

Maybe my gut feeling that "this one" was different was right.

Summoning up the courage, I open my mouth and ask him flat out: "So, what do think about William and Sally?"

"I think they make a great couple," he says, casting me a quick glance. "She's just as cute as can be and it's pretty obvious they really love each other."

"Yeah; I think so, too." I turn and look out the window the rest of the way home.

My mind is a jumble of thoughts and emotions. I am trying to make sense of things, but so many things won't make sense. My physical reaction to Mike's touch; my emotional reaction to his touch; both these things surprise me. My love for William and my happiness for his engagement vie with something else. I don't want to think about what that something else is, because I am afraid I know. None of this makes any sense because I've never felt this way about someone before. I need to think.

Mike drops me at my apartment building. He wants to walk me up to my door, but his cell phone rang about three blocks away, and it was work. I have to settle for a hug. But, it is one of the best hugs I have ever gotten.

Mike pulls back reluctantly, but still keeps his hands on my waist.

"I'm sorry I have to go in." He sighs and rests his forehead against mine. "I'll call you tonight; I promise."

I rub my hands up and down his upper arms and nod. I did understand. I don't like it, but am well aware of what his life entails right now. I move away towards my apartment building, then turn and blow him a flirty goodbye kiss. I then walk quickly towards my apartment building. I am afraid I might run back and cling to him, all weak and needy-like if I look at him again, so I fight the urge and keep moving.


	3. Chapter 3

**Logan's Lady Chapter 2**

_Okay, excuse me. Ron here. I've got to butt in because I'd like to tell my side of the story._

_ Stephanie is right that we met at a cop bar. She's also right that we went dancing. It was incredible. Almost too good to be true. I didn't want to think too much about what was happening, because I felt that at any moment, Ashton Kutcher was going to come running in yelling, "Dude! You've been punked! You've been punked! She doesn't like you! She's a plant!" Or something mean like that._

_ Her brother-in-law, Stewart Wilson, introduced us. I hated to abandon him for Stephanie, but have you seen Stephanie? She's gorgeous. The sight of her took my breath away. Very few women have ever taken my breath away at first sight. She still has it, too._

_ Anyway, she purred…purred when she spoke to me and every inch of her oozed sensuality as she expressed her interest in getting to know me better. _

_ I was riveted by the most incredible pair of eyes my eyes had ever seen. They were emerald. Seriously. Sparkly, spunky, and very emerald. Her eyes were surrounded by the most incredible peaches and cream skin I had ever seen. Her voice was husky; sensual and sexy and smooth like Kentucky whiskey bourbon. The whole thing was topped off by red hair, like Julia Roberts' hair in Pretty Woman. Stephanie was one pretty woman. And I wanted to get to know her better._

_ When she suggested we leave to go dancing, I couldn't get out of there fast enough. I was willing to follow her wherever she wanted to go._

_ She was right that we had a lot of fun. I've never had conversation flow so easily with anyone before the way it flowed with her. We laughed and talked about lots of things. I was intrigued by her writing, and surprised to learn that she wrote crime novels; very successful crime novels. I recognized her pen name as one I had seen on numerous books lying around the squad room. She has a lot of fans in the NYPD. Turns out she has a lot of friends, too, as she uses their stories and their lives as the inspiration for her characters. I was fascinated._

_ Dancing with her was incredible. It was the most natural thing in the world to be moving out on the dance floor with her, as though we were meant to be partners. I tucked that thought away for later consideration, and have come back to it numerous times over the six weeks we have been seeing each other._

_ She's right that I did not know how to line dance. I still don't know how to line dance, even after my hysterical attempts that night we first met. At least I was a willing pupil. I think I'll stick to slow dancing, her body against mine, stepping and swaying to the music. I can handle spinning a dance partner away from me and back in and the occasional dip, but line dancing has been crossed off my list._

_ I floated home the night we first met. Yes, men can float home, too. I even think I was smiling in my sleep, meeting her made me that happy. I couldn't wait to call her again and ask her out. I've never woken up the next day eager to call someone on the phone and tell them I had a great time the night before, but I wanted to with Stephanie. I reached for my cell phone, but stopped myself when I realized I didn't have her number. That, and seeing that the clock on my nightstand read 5:30 am. _

_ So, what was I going to do? _

_ I thought about it while I showered. I thought about it while I shaved. When I picked up the newspaper, I found my answer. There was an ad for a florist with a picture of roses. I grabbed the phone book, looked up where she worked (she had talked about it last night), and found a florist two blocks away. I put their number in my cell phone, ate a bowl of cereal and left for work._

_Upon reaching the squad room where I work (I'm a New York Police Department detective), I looked up the florist online and perused their selections. I found one that caught my eye: it was a large crystal vase holding two dozen long-stemmed red roses, baby's breath and greenery. It was perfect. I called and placed my order. I asked the very nice sounding Denise at the florist shop to please write 'Thanks for a wonderful evening ~ Ron' on the card and to deliver it as soon as possible._

_ After my morning meeting, I followed up the roses with a phone call. She was most appreciative. Flattered. Pleased. Full of synonyms. I could hear her smiling and, closing my eyes, could picture her cheeks slightly flushed and her eyes bright. It pleased me to know she was happy about the flowers. I had been nervous that she thought it was too much, but, no – she thought they were perfect._

_ I thought she was perfect._

_ The thought so surprised me that I stumbled over my words. She had me tongue-tied. It had been a long time since a woman had me tongue-tied; I had forgotten how it felt. Exciting and confusing all at the same time._

_ Regaining my composure, I ask her to join me for lunch the next day. She agrees. I tell her I'll have to call her the next morning to make the arrangements once I knew what my day would be like. We had a wonderful lunch outside the next day. The weather had been picture-perfect, and so had she as she walked down the busy sidewalk towards me. I was sitting outside at a bistro and the sight of her coming towards me, those green eyes of hers looking only at me, made my heart sing. She makes me feel incredible. _

_ I thought I was going to choke on my tea when she informed me that she wanted to write a romance novel. An erotic romance novel. She was bored of crime dramas and wanted to try something new. Once I regained my composure, I realized I wanted to try something new, too. Her._

_ I've discovered we have the same taste in movies, we both love hamburgers, we can't stand being around cigarette smoke, and that a tumbler full of good whiskey bourbon is our favorite way to relax and unwind at the end of the day. I never would have figured a woman as feminine as her for a whiskey drinker, but she loves the stuff. I think I just might love her._

_ I hate that my work keeps me from spending all of my time with her. It's a necessary evil, and she understands completely, but at times, I'm jealous of her. She sits and writes, puts out a book and receives a very large paycheck for her efforts. She tells me it's a lot harder than I make it out to be, coming up with plots and story lines, fresh characters, interesting scenes, and keeping everything straight from start to finish. She envies me getting out into the city with my work._

_ I remember showing up at her apartment one afternoon, only to discover that she had been sitting in front of her computer, stacks of newspapers and notes scattered around her on the kitchen table, struggling to write. I acted spontaneously, saving her work, closing her laptop and insisting that the day was much too pretty for her to spend the rest of it cooped up inside. I practically shoved her into her bedroom, imploring her to get dressed. I raided her kitchen and threw together enough items for a makeshift picnic. Stuffing my finds into a large laundry basket, I dragged her out the door._

_ Stephanie and I spent the rest of that day in Central Park. I took her to the pond, where we fed the ducks and the swans, walked hand-in-hand with her down tree-covered pathways, and laid a feast before her on a blanket under a tree. I fed her strawberries and bananas. She fed me a ham and cheese sandwich and some tangy green olives. We drank wine straight from a bottle I found in her fridge. We laughed and talked and smiled._

_ She thanked me when I dropped her off, invited me up for a nightcap. I begged off due to a very early departmental meeting the next morning, but indulged myself in kissing her deeply. It was the first time we had kissed. The moment had been building all afternoon, and it was everything I had imagined and more._

_ I leaned in towards her, she stretched up towards me. Brown eyes met green, briefly, then closed as lips met, pressed. Someone sighed, arms began to wind around bodies and lips shifted, then parted. Tongues touched shyly at first, then bolder. Mouths opened wider as the kiss deepened and bodies pressed closer together. I felt her arms leave, then move to wrap around my neck, her fingers tangle in my hair. _

_ My stomach flipped and my toes curled. _

_ I heard a moan. It was answered. _

_ Bodies pressed even tighter, the kiss deepened even more, and just when I thought I would die from delight, it began to lessen. The space began to widen between us. Stephanie moved back slightly, and lowered from her tiptoes to her flat feet. She looked up shyly at me and smiled._

_ "I had a nice time. Thank you for getting me out of my apartment."_

_ "You're welcome," I said. My brain was still not completely back in my head. I didn't want the kiss to be over. I wanted to kiss her again. I needed to kiss her again._

_ "Ron," she chided me gently and pushed me away. "You have an early meeting, remember?"_

_ I pressed my forehead to hers and sighed. "Yeah, I remember."_

_ "You need to go," she whispered._

_ "I don't want to," I whispered back._

_ "I don't want you to, either."_

_ I took a deep breath and another step back. "Here's your basket." I handed her our makeshift picnic basket._

_ She giggled as she took it from me. "Who'd've thought, right?"_

_ "Right."_

_ I watched her turn and walk towards the door of her building. She turned and blew me a kiss before disappearing inside._

_ I wouldn't see her for three days because of that early morning meeting the next day. The memory of her blowing me a kiss goodnight carried me through._

I sit back, amazed at the words that had just flowed out of my head and into my computer. I have never written in first person before. All my Adam Dalton crime novels are written in the third person, so that the reader feels as if he or she is watching everything play out in front of them. This was new and different.

I go back and re-read everything "Ron" had written. It is incredible. Itis amazing. It was damned near perfect.

I get up and head to the fridge for a drink. Grabbing the milk, I shut the door with my foot, and snatch a pink, plastic cup out of the drying rack. Milk poured, carton returned to the fridge, I grab the graham crackers and settle back down at the kitchen table.

I read back over everything I have written, from word one. I really do like the bits written in first person.

That settles it, I decide. I'm going to write this whole story in first person, alternating between Ron and Stephanie's points of view. I go back to the beginning and carefully change the point of view and perspective accordingly. The end result makes me happier about my writing than I have been in a long time. My joy is back!

I decide that finding my joy deserves a celebration. Something more than just milk and graham crackers. Not that there is anything wrong with milk and graham crackers, mind you – they are one of my guilty pleasures, in fact – but, the kind of celebration I'm thinking of would be better with a certain sexy, brown-eyed detective by my side.

I grab my cell and call him. Voice mail. Rats. I leave a message, telling him I'm in the mood to go out and celebrate. I follow it up with a call to his apartment. Again, no answer. I leave a less enthusiastic message on his answering machine, grab my milk and the last cracker, and head for the bathroom.

If he's not available, at least my bathtub is.

My bathtub is luxurious, to say the least. I'm blessed enough to have been able to buy my apartment outright and redo it just for me. I splurged in the bathroom. It's like something out of a designer showroom. The shower is a walk-in style with room for three people, a bench, and a fabulous, "rain style" shower head. The bathtub is the largest jetted tub I could buy. Four of my girlfriends can fit in there with me. It's more towards being a hot tub, but it's still a bathtub.

I run the water, light candles, spread the extra large fluffy bath mat on the floor, put a towel on the small table next to the tub, and pull up my hair. Going back into my bedroom, I grab my radio and several romance novels checked out from the library. At the last minute, I grab my cell phone off the kitchen table and fix myself a glass of wine before returning to the bathroom and sinking down into the hot water to relax and research.

Five chapters into one of the romance novels, things get hot and heavy between the romantic leads. I pay special attention to how the author writes, noting the word choice, the phrasing, how she builds and develops the scene, and the conversation between the couple. Based on my prior experiences with sexual intercourse, she (this particular author) seems to describe the sex this couple just had in rather fantastical terms. I mean, come on, who really has "mind-numbing orgasms" anyway? (I know, I know; I wrote a hot sex scene for my book a few days ago. Cut me some slack, will ya?) And, I don't know too many men who would rather snuggle their woman up against them and fall asleep after sex. All of my previous lovers couldn't handle more than about five minutes of post-coital snuggling before rolling over to go to sleep, if they stayed after sex at all. Not to mention being ready for another round of hot and heavy intercourse mere minutes after completing the sex act. Where does she get this stuff?

I am just about to start chapter six when my phone rings. Not my cell phone; my landline. I just happen to have one in my bathroom (don't ask), and reached over to grab it.

Instead of saying hello, I curse as the library book falls into the bathtub and begins a slow descent towards the bottom.

"Hello to you, too," a silken, male voice purrs into my ear.

"Hi," I say, irritated.

"Did I call at a bad time?"

"No, I was just sitting here in the bathtub, reading, and my book fell into the water when I answered the phone."

"You have a phone in your bathroom," Mike asks incredulously.

"Yes," I snap as I shake the book gently. Tucking the receiver under my chin, I carefully wrap the book in a towel and try to pat it dry. "I think it's ruined," I whine softly.

"What's ruined," a confused voice fills my ear. "The phone?"

"No, the library book," I grouse. Tossing it towards the trash can in frustration, I sigh deeply and turn my attention to Mike.

"Hi," I said apologetically. "Can we start again? I didn't mean to cuss in your ear."

I hear him chuckle softly. "Are you still sitting in your bathtub?"

"Yes," I answer cautiously.

"Your message said you were celebrating," he continues. His voice oozes through the phone like silk, and I realize with a start that I am becoming aroused just from the sound of his voice.

"Mmm."

"What are you celebrating?"

"My writing. I just let myself free write, not over thinking it, and it was wonderful! Changed my whole outlook on how to write this story. I made huge, terrific progress and it was joyful. I haven't felt this way about my writing in quite a while, so I just had to celebrate."

"By sitting in your bathtub?"

"By _soaking_ in my bathtub with a glass of wine, surrounded by candles and music and lots and lots of hot water." I realize my water has now become tepid, so I pull up the drain, allowing the rapidly cooling water to start leaving the tub.

"Would you like some company?"

"Care to join me?" I answer without thinking and quite flirtatiously, surprising myself at my boldness.

"Can I get a glass of wine, first?" I hear a cabinet open and close and a glass clinking in the background.

"Of course. What's a good soak in a hot bath without one?"

"I wouldn't know; I've never done this before."

"You never done this before?" I am incredulous. "Oh, my," I tease. "You don't know what you're missing."

"Care to educate me?"

Now I'm confused. His voice seems awfully loud and echo-y for someone who is talking on the phone.

Movement catches the corner of my eye and I look sideways towards the large mirror over the sink. I sit bolt upright in the tub, nearly spilling my wine, and turn around.

Mike Logan is standing in the doorway of my bathroom. Naked. Holding a glass of wine in one hand, his cell phone in the other.

He is magnificent. More spectacular than I had imagined. And he is all mine.

I can hardly speak. When he begins to walk towards me, pausing to close and place his cell phone on the counter, I find it hard to breathe.

The man is quite a specimen. Six foot three, dark brown hair, deep brown eyes with gold flecks, chiseled features giving his face matinee idol looks. His shoulders are broad and well-muscled. Not overly so from lots of muscle-building exercises, but strong, natural, defined muscles. His arms are long, lean and tan. His chest is incredible. Like something out of a magazine. A very light dusting of hair covers his perfect pecs, meeting to form a line that runs right down the center of his very toned, "six-pack" abs, pointing down towards….well, that is a fine specimen, too. Slightly aroused, hanging, beckoning. But I digress.

I must mention his legs. I cannot forget those legs. They are spectacular; long, lean, well-honed, tanned. Strong looking pillars, perfectly matched to the rest of him.

He keeps coming towards me, a cocky grin on his face as he realizes the effect his nakedness is having on me.

The mood is partially spoiled when he finally reaches the edge of the tub and looks in.

"Are we going to sit in an empty tub, or were you planning on filling it back up again?"

"Oh," I say dumbly. My face is beet red with embarrassment over my reaction to him.

He seems unaffected by it all, as he casually leans over and turns on the faucets. He then sits on the side of the tub, his gaze meeting mine, daring me to look away. One hand hangs lazily down into the water, waiting for it to get hot. The other slowly raises the wine glass to his lips, those perfectly delectable, kissable lips. Those lips that part, embrace the rim of the glass, take in the deep, red liquid, guiding it towards the back of his mouth. I watch his throat move as he swallows, and I imagine him swallowing me after he had….

I mentally shake myself. No, I chastise my brain. Don't go there. At least, not yet.

"How's this," Mike asks as I begin to feel hot water filling the tub again.

"It's perfect," I coo boldly. If he's going to get all seductive on me, two can play that game. Who knows? This could be fun. And inspiring.

Mike leans over me and closes the drain. Then he stands, and steps over the side of the tub. First one leg, then the other. He is standing over me, straddling me, holding my attention with his gaze. He takes another slow, seductive sip of his wine before lowering himself down into the tub.

Once he is seated, he slides down until his shoulders are in the water. His long arms spread out along the edge of the tub. His long legs stretch out until his feet are on either side of my hips. Mike's head falls back slightly and he sighs.

I smile, pleased, as I watch the tension drain from his body and see him become totally and completely relaxed. He probably hasn't been this relaxed in quite a while, I think.

"Nice, isn't it," I venture softly.

He nods, totally blissed out from the wine and the hot water.

"My favorite way to end a hard day. This place is my private retreat."

Mike says nothing for a few long moments. He raises his head and looks over at me.

"Thank you for letting me share it with you," he says seriously. I can tell he means it, and that he is deeply touched.

"You're welcome," I answer softly.

We hang out, surrounded by hot water and soft music, for a bit longer. We sip our wine and relax. Words are not necessary right now. They would only ruin the moment.

The wine is gone and the water is turning cold. Mike slowly pushes himself upright and catches my gaze again. He smiles.

"I like how you celebrate."

I grin. "Anytime," I answer. I mean it, too.

"I just might have to take you up on that."

He carefully stands up and steps out of the tub. I watch, only partly dejected, as he dries himself off. When he is done, he hangs his towel on a nearby towel bar, before coming back to stand, naked, over me where I still sit in the now cold water.

He reaches out and grabs the towel nearest the tub and places it carefully on the edge. He begins to lean over me, slowly, a sly, half-smile on his face. He reaches out and places his hands on the edge of the tub, on either side of my head. He keeps coming towards me, never releasing his gaze, until his lips make contact with mine. He presses gently and holds himself there for what seems like an eternity, before rising up swiftly, turning, and walking out of the bathroom.

"Lock your front door next time, Judith," he admonishes me gently from the doorway.

I sit there, numb. By the time I am finally able to move and get myself out of the tub, wrap up in a towel, and cross to the door, he is gone. His clothes are gone. His shoes are gone.

I hurry down the hall, hoping to stop him, hoping to lure him back into the bathroom, or maybe into my bedroom.

He is just about to shut the door to my condo when I reach the living room.

"Mike," I call out to him.

He sticks his head around the door and smiles. This time, it is he who blows the flirty kiss goodbye, and me who is left there standing, grinning like an idiot at a closed door.


	4. Chapter 4

Logan's Lady Chapter 2

I am nervous and excited. Tonight is the huge Wainwright Foundation Annual Gala. This year it will be at the New York City Centre theatre. Anticipation is running high, as the Gala has been threatened by a mad man whose "manifesto" (if that's what you could call the crazed rantings of a delusional mind) warned everyone that a bomb would go off during the evening. "He" was hoping to kill Amy Wainwright and her family in an act of revenge.

I shiver at the thought as I finish getting dressed. How I wish I could be going with Mike tonight. However, Mike is Trey's protective detail and will be helping two other NYPD detectives, Robert Goren and Alex Eames, with security during the gala, as well as with trying to find the mad man threatening to blow it all up. So, instead, my escort is another of the NYPD's finest, an undercover cop who just happens to be one of my dearest friends, Andy Jacobsen. I always enjoy spending time with him and his family; tonight, we have to pretend to be a couple.

I want Mike.

We've been dating for about four months now, ever since he showed up naked in my bathroom and soaked in the tub with me. I figured that any man who would want to simply be with me was worth getting to know better. I was right. He is worth it. I've never known anyone like him; smart, funny, and incredibly good-looking. He makes me feel special. When I'm with him, it's as natural as breathing; I know it sounds cliché, but it really is true.

I've never felt the ground roll beneath my feet when a man kissed me, but the first time Mike Logan touched his lips to mine, that's exactly what happened. And the second time, and the third time. In fact, every time he kisses me, the world fades away and time stands still. It's incredible. I think I'm in love.

I stand, studying my reflection in the full-length mirror hanging on my closet door. My dress is an amazing shade of emerald and wearing it makes me feel like a glamorous Hollywood starlet. I'm hoping to catch a few moments with Mike; this dress will knock his socks off.

The doorbell rings and I know that means Andy is here in the limo. Grabbing my purse and my wrap, I head out the door.

I did see Mike; my dress did knock his socks off. Then everything changed when the bomb went off.

It's now two days later, and I'm sitting in the waiting room of the ICU, talking with Mike and my brother-in-law Trey. We're discussing the condition of Trey's father, Detective Robert Goren. Bobby, as his friends call him, was critically injured the night of the Gala. Turns out, there were TWO bombs, one was strapped to the chest of Matthew Richardsen and had been safely diffused. The other one was a complex affair, down in one of the tunnels that ran beneath the building. Bobby's nephew and Trey's cousin, Donny Carlson, had been sucked into the evil plot and had perished in the explosion. Now Bobby was lying comatose in the ICU.

"The doctor says they stopped all the bleeding and repaired the damage. It's just up to his body to heal itself," Trey was telling us.

"Do they have any idea how long he'll be unconscious," I ask. I'm very concerned; I went out with Bobby a few times and really like the man.

Trey sadly shakes his head. I reach over, take his hand and hold it. It seems like such a helpless gesture, but it's the only thing I can think of to do. Trey squeezes back and holds on tight; he welcomes any bit of comfort he can get. My heart aches for him. First Laura, and now Bobby.

"Judith, are you hungry," Mike asks me a few quiet minutes later. "I haven't had lunch yet and would like to grab a bite to eat before heading back into the squad room."

"I'm not hungry, but I'll keep you company," I tell him with a smile.

We stand, and after saying good-bye to Trey, head down to the cafeteria.

"Are you really going to eat the food here," I ask. "I've never liked the food in this hospital. Come on, I'll take you to Mama's near the Plaza."

Later that night, after work and spending more time at the hospital, Mike shows up at my door.

We settle in on the couch and watch the rest of Mythbusters on television. His nearness is both comforting and unnerving. One broad, muscular thigh pressed against mine. One strong arm, carelessly thrown over the back of the couch, its hand resting on my shoulder. Impulsively, I snuggle into the warmth of his side and he wraps that arm around me, making me feel safe, secure, alive.

The show ends and another episode begins. I am even more acutely aware of his presence. Neither one of us moves. We just feel as heat and sensation and desire begin to rise inside me.

"I really like that show," I say lamely.

"I like the person I'm watching it with better."

I look up and find myself captured by the intensity of his gaze. His eyes are like brown velvet, with flecks of green and gold dancing in them.

He moves his head closer to mine and I close my eyes as our lips meet. The whole room spins and rolls as I'm swept away by the passion I suddenly feel for him. I moan and lean in closer, parting my lips, encouraging him to deepen the kiss. As he does, his hand is suddenly on the back of my head, pressing me tightly into him. My hand is on his thigh, gripping equally as tight as heat and fire continue to build up inside me; I feel like I could explode.

He shifts me so that I'm now across his lap, my chest pressed against his. My entire body begins to tingle as his tongue continues to plunder my mouth, creating sensations inside me I never knew I could feel. His hands run up and down my back, leaving trails of fire in their wake. When his hand slips under my shirt to caress my bare skin, I'm a goner. I don't want this to stop. Ever.

My whimpers and moans are having an effect on him, too. I can feel his erection beginning to build beneath my thighs. Wanting more, needing more, I pull away, breaking the kiss just long enough to straddle his lap and resettle myself against him.

Now, it's his turn to moan. I laugh huskily and tangle my fingers in the soft hair at the back of his neck.

"Well?"

"I don't feel like going home tonight."

"Then don't," I answer boldly.

He studies me seriously, searching my face and my eyes for clues. He must have realized I meant what I was saying, because his lips are back on mine again. Hungrier, needier this time, as though he wants all of me and can't get enough of me fast enough.

I slide off his lips so I can kiss and lick and nip his jaw line, slowly making my way to his ear, taking my time, enjoying the torment I am creating. Loving the effect I am having on him. Surprised at how much my actions are arousing me.

I reach his ear and slowly suck the lobe into my mouth. I chuckle evilly when he audibly draws in his breath and his head falls back against the sofa. When I nip the tender flesh, his arms tighten around me.

"Oh, God, woman," he exclaims.

"Have your way with me, Mike," I say softly into his ear.

He stills. I can barely breathe as I wait for his response. He has been such a gentleman, backing off completely after that time in my tub. For some strange reason, I felt I really needed to go slowly with him, taking my time to get to know him before I rushed into a physical relationship. I was pleasantly surprised when he agreed. Up until now, he has only kissed me senseless; let me set the pace of our relationship. Tonight, after everything that has happened over the last four days, I need this. Need to be held, caressed and cherished. I need him.

"Please," I beg before nipping and sucking on his earlobe again, this time grinding my crotch against his erection for extra emphasis.

That's all it takes. Suddenly, both his hands are under my shirt, caressing my back, setting me ablaze with desire. His lips are back on mine, plundering, taking, giving; sending wave after wave of delicious pleasure through my body. My hands are on his chest, frantically trying to unbutton his shirt, wanting, no, _needing_ to feel his bare skin beneath mine. I sigh as my hands finally feel the warmth of his body; caress his soft skin; twist and tangle the hairs on his chest, causing him to gasp in response.

He pushes up my shirt and I raise my arms over my head so he can take it off. He drinks in the sight of my ample breasts straining to escape the thin lace of my favorite dark green strapless bra. He reaches out and runs the backs of his fingers ever so slightly over my skin. Instantly, I shiver and jolt. I can feel the skin of my breasts contract and my nipples harden.

In response, I flatten my hands out over his breasts and press into him, moving my hands in circles. His nipples harden under my palms and his erection jumps under my crotch, arousing me further. He is hard as a rock, his manhood bulging and straining to get out. The realization of the power I have over him emboldens me further, and I lean forward to suckle one of his nipples.

He cries out, long and primal, so I arch my back and slide slowly up to his face, pressing my lips against his. I flatten myself against him, sighing at the deliciousness of finally having skin-to-skin contact with him. He wraps his arms around me and holds me there. Together we bask in the warmth of our closeness, steadying our breathing, calming to a mere simmer of passion.

Mike reaches out and pushes my hair back, slightly turning his face to the side. "Should we go to your bed?"

"Hmm, I don't know," I coyly respond. "Do you think you can walk with an erection like that?"

"I can do lots of things with an erection like this," he growls in mock anger.

"Why don't you show me?"

He doesn't answer, but instead slides his hands down my back to cup my bottom, deliberately pulling me even harder against him as he stands up. I yelp and wrap my arms tightly around his neck.

"Mike," I cry out. I wrap my legs tightly around his waist.

"Careful, woman, or we won't make it to your bed."

I laugh and bury my face into his neck, kissing and licking him as he makes his way to my bedroom.

He gasps at the sight of my bed. I guess he hadn't really paid much attention to it when he surprised me by coming naked into my bathroom a while back. My bed is like something out of a fairy tale. It's huge, a super king mattress requiring special-order sheets and four pillows across its width. It's super-firm, but with an extra-thick layer of pillow-y softness on top for my body to sink down into. I have my flat sheets, comforters and bedspreads made even larger than normal for this size mattress, so I can really wrap myself in luxury. The head and foot of the bed are of the most exquisite antique wrought iron, full of curls and swirls and arches. The top of the mattress is nearly at my waist and the whole thing looks like it belongs in a palace. I feel like an empress when I go to bed at night.

Very few men have ever shared this bed with me. Bringing someone into it is a huge step for me. I wonder if Mike knows that, I think, watching his face as he takes in the mammoth object in front of him.

"What do you think," I ask.

"It's magnificent. You could get lost in that thing for days," he says admiringly.

"I often do," I laugh. "I do some of my best writing propped up on it."

"I hope that's not all you do best on it," Mike says huskily, refocusing all his attention on me.

I shiver with delight at the passion I see smoldering in his eyes.

"Why don't we find out?" My voice is soft and husky.

He moves to the side of the bed and lowers me until the backs of my knees hit the side. I lay back and he follows, lowering himself until he's hovering over me, his forearms on either side of my head. He dips his head and kisses me deeply. I feel like I'm flying.

Suddenly, he stands, pulling me up with him.

"Mike," I yelp as my feet hit the floor.

He just grins, all lopsided and cute, then reaches out and yanks back the covers.

I laugh, move around to the other side of the bed, and together we fold back the bedding.

"Pillows," I ask, holding one up.

In response, he picks one up and throws it at me.

"That's it! You're gonna get it now!" I clamber up onto the bed, and before he can react, I have whacked him, hard, with the pillow.

"Hey!"

"I told you! My brother LOVED to pillow fight. Laura and I learned very quickly how to hold our own with him," I tell him, brandishing the pillow over my head.

Mike quickly grabs my hands, keeping them over my head, and places his lips on mine. I moan and slowly release the pillow. As he kisses me, he gets on the bed, on his knees, until he is pressed up against me, our arms still up in the air. He moves his mouth off my lips to my chin, then slowly slides his tongue down my neck until it is in my cleavage.

I moan loudly as his tongue licks and his lips nip and his hands slide down my arms until they are just under my armpits. He lowers us gently down onto the mattress until I am flat on my back, hands tangled in his hair, gripping him tightly as he continues to lave my chest. As my bare back hits the coolness of the silken sheets, it occurs to me that somehow, without my realizing it, he has removed my bra.

My back arches and my body jerks when his mouth comes in contact with my nipple. I moan loudly as he continues, non-stop, driving me wild with desire. Hand replaces mouth, and then his lips are on my other nipple. He nips and licks with his mouth; teases and tweaks with his fingers. I cry out even louder and my finger nails strafe his bare back.

My legs part slightly and suddenly, he is there, lying completely on top of me. His masculine form pressed against mine, bulging erection straining to escape as it nestles against my crotch. Even though I am nearly out of my mind from the attention he is giving my breasts, I am able to register that down below, I am wetter and throbbing harder than I ever have before. This man is unbelieveable!

Desperate for more, I slide my hands down his back and slip my fingers under the waistband of his pants. Now it is Mike's turn to moan.

He raises his head and looks at me.

"Hey….slow down. You said I could have my way with you, remember?" He smiles and strokes my face.

"I….can't….wait."

"Well, you're going to have to, cause I fully intend to take you at your word, little lady."

I melt even further; I love the way he calls me "little lady". Like I am his and his alone. After tonight, I will be.

I pull my fingers out of his waistband, firmly grasp his rear, and pull him in even tighter as I open my legs to him further. His eyes widen, then he gets this really devilish look on his face, laughter mingling with the desire flaring in his eyes.

Suddenly, he slides down my body until his face is directly over my stomach. He lays his cheek against my skin and sighs.

"I love how soft you are," he croons gently, his breath warm against my skin, setting it on fire.

I force myself to exhale as his tongue traces slow lazy circles around my naval. I jolt and come off the bed when it dives into the depths of my abdomen. I never knew my belly button could be such an erogenous zone; Mike is showing me lots of things I don't know about my body. It's as though, in his hands, it's a finely-tuned instrument that only he can play.

Soon I am squealing and squirming underneath him. He rises slightly, splaying his large hands across my belly, wrapping his fingers around my waist. Slowly, ever so slowly, he inches his hands down towards the waistband of my pants. He slides his fingers inside the waistband and feels the cool silk of my tap pants.

He raises an eyebrow at me. "What have we here?"

"Why don't you take them off and find out?"

He does.

"Tap pants. I LOVE tap pants," he sighs appreciatively.

I reach for snap of his jeans. He starts to protest, but I silence him with a finger to his lips. He says nothing, but sucks my finger into the warm depths of his mouth and allows me to open the snap and pull down the zipper. He groans softly as my fingers brush his erection. He shifts his hips as I struggle to push his jeans down, finally kicking his legs and using his feet to remove them completely. Now we are lying together with only the thin layers of our underpants keeping us from completely touching.

I sigh deeply and wrap my arms around him. He burrows his hands under my back so that he can wrap his long, strong arms completely around me. He also sighs deeply as we hold each other tightly, feeling our hearts beat, basking in the warmth of our closeness.

I'm not sure who moved first, but our lips have met again. Slowly and deeply this time; exploring, savoring, enjoying. Drinking each other in, his kisses fill me like no one else's ever have. I feel myself growing more and more aroused, but not wanting his kisses to end.

He reaches down with one long arm and places his hand on my thigh. I moan as it begins a slow upward journey of caresses and strokes. He mouth is all over my face now; warm breath and soft lips bussing my cheeks, eyes, nose, chin; his hand continues to stroke my thigh, his fingers teasing the skin where fabric meets flesh.

I am on fire, aching, helpless to stop the rising torrents of desire, unable to move beneath his weight; unwilling to stop him.


	5. Chapter 5

Logan's Lady Chapter 4

I force myself to l lie still and let him have his way with me. I occupy my hands by wrapping my arms around him. I cry out and grasp his back when his hand slides inside my pants and up under my bottom, caressing my buttock, pulling me into him. I hear him chuckle at my reaction and I whimper for more.

He shifts now to lie beside me, and his hand moves up to caress my hip bone and the top of my thigh. I whine in disappointment when he pulls his hands away. I sigh in satisfaction when he pulls my tap pants down, delighting in the delicious torment he is creating as he slowly slides the silken fabric down my legs. He tosses them onto the floor and returns to lie beside me.

He strokes my cheek, and I take his little finger into my mouth and suck it, hard, enjoying his gasp of pleasure. Removing his finger, he slides his hand slowly down to my chest and tweaks and caresses each nipple in turn. I am once again wriggling with desire, anxious to feel him touching my clitoris, stroking the wet folds of my vagina, inserting first his fingers, then his penis into me.

His mouth replaces his hand as it journeys down to my abdomen, stroking, teasing, sending me higher, driving me more and more wild. He lightly brushes his fingers across the hairs on my crotch and I cry out at the bolt of sensation that shoots through me. He does it again, more firmly this time, and I hear myself begging him to touch me.

He surprises me by taking my hand and leading it to his crotch, wrapping it around his erection. I realize that he is as desperate for my touch as I am for his, and eagerly rub my hand up and down its length. It is hard and firm, vibrant and alive. Touching him arouses me even further and I frantically grab the waistband of his boxer shorts and begin to tug them off. He reaches behind his back to help me, and soon we are both completely naked.

I press myself full against him and sigh. "I need this."

Mike sighs and holds me close. "I need this, too." He pauses. "Do I need protection?"

"No, I'm on the pill," I say. Can this really be about to happen?

Mike's hands move down my back to cup my bottom and pull me into him once more.

Yes. It really is.

Mike gently pushes me onto my back, settling himself between my legs. He kisses me deeply and I fly.

I shift, adjusting my hips and rubbing myself against the length of his shaft. He realizes what I am doing and groans as my movements give him pleasure; he shifts his hips from side to side, further adding to our mutual excitement and growing pleasure.

Mike presses himself hard against me and slowly tilts his hips, sliding his incredibly long, hard penis very slowly down my crotch, until the tip is pressing against the wet folds of my vagina. I gasp, then sigh as my body opens fully and he slips inside, filling me more completely than I could ever imagine.

Once completely inside, he stills, reveling in the feel of my warmth around him. I moan and wrap my arms around his broad torso. He moans and slips his hands underneath me, wrapping me in his strong arms.

"You feel so good," he growls into my ear.

"So do you," I whisper in response.

My heartbeat levels out as we remain perfectly still, feeling, experiencing, enjoying. Slowly, I feel the tension beginning to mount as I start to ache for the ultimate release. I press the small of my back into the mattress, tilting my hips and taking Mike just one notch further inside me.

He gasps, astonished that I can contain all of him. He pulls his head back and gazes at me in wonder. His head dips slowly and his lips gently sink down onto mine. My head begins to swim as he deepens the kiss. Mike's tongue is the only part of his body that is moving, and it makes incredible love with mine while all the while there is a liquid burning building up from deep within me. It threatens to consume me and I moan deeply and try to squirm, but Mike holds me still, loving me only with his tongue.

I feel the orgasm begin to well up within me and I am helpless against it. The muscles of my groin and vagina tense and release, clinching tighter and tighter every time as waves of passion wash harder and harder over me. I barely register that Mike is struggling hard to control his own climax as the most amazing orgasm overtakes me and I explode in ecstasy.

As I begin to float back down to earth, Mike eases up on my lips. He showers them with light tender kisses, then rains the most gentle of caresses all over my face as I ease down from the heights of pleasure. Before I can land on the bed again, Mike begins to move inside me. Slowly he pulls himself back until just the tip of his manhood is nestled in the tender, fleshy folds between my legs. Just as slowly, he sinks back into me and I cry out as sensation rises in me once more.

Over and over, he tortures us both with his slow movements. His moans join mine as my body tightens around him, pulling him back in, taking him higher, too. I bend my knees and pull my legs as far apart as I can, allowing him complete and total access to my body.

"Mike!" My voice begs.

In response, he quickens his movements and mine match his. Together, we press on, higher and higher, faster and harder. I can feel him swelling inside me and I love it. I love everything he is doing to me. I never knew sex could be so incredible, so fulfilling.

I can sense the change in Mike as he nears orgasm and I wrap my legs around his waist. The sensation his movements now create in me is like nothing I have ever experienced, and I cry out loudly as another huge orgasm overtakes me. Every thrust he makes inside me now causes me to climax and soon his own loud moans of pleasure join mine as I shudder deeply with every orgasm. He roars loudly as he climaxes and he presses himself deeply into me several more times. I come with every thrust, although the sensations are less and less each time. Soon I am limp, sweaty, and very, very satisfied.

"How are you," Mike asks after he finally regains his voice.

"Oh," I stutter. I run my hand through my hair and flop my arm heavily down on the bed. "That….that…was…." I giggle.

"Yeah." He struggles to raise his head and look at me. "Wow."

"Uh…huh," I agree. We are both panting hard.

He shifts and I feel him start to slip away from me.

"Don't move," I whine.

"I'm sorry, Baby, I have to; there's nothing left." He shifts off me, then gathers me in his arms and tucks me securely into his side. I melt into him. I could stay like this forever.

He kisses my hair and strokes my back gently. Soon we are both asleep; a deep, satisfied, restful sleep.

A few hours later, I awaken. I need to go to the bathroom. After carefully extricating myself from Mike's limbs so as not to wake him up, I slip off the bed and head for the bathroom. I can hardly move, I am so sore and stretched out from our lovemaking.

I freeze in my tracks as I realize what I have just thought.

Lovemaking. I actually _made love_ to a man tonight. For the first time. Ever. I force myself to move into the bathroom.

Don't get me wrong, I've had sex; wild sex; hot sex; I wasn't a virgin. But – I have never felt like I _made love_ with a partner before. It was just sex; a release; a brief connection. This…this was more; way more. I explore those thoughts as I take care of my needs in the bathroom. I study my face in the mirror; I don't _look_ any different, but I sure do _feel_ different. I turn off the light and return to the bed.

I stand by the bed and stare down at the sleeping male form of Mike Logan. He is incredible in the faint light of the city that glows around the edges of my curtains. I take in his long limbs, his broad chest, his strong hands that so gently and tenderly took me to heights of passion I had only imagined, or even faked, before. A glance at the clock makes me gasp; we had moved into my bedroom around 9 last night; it was now 3 am. I vaguely remember falling asleep with the numbers glowing 12:30. I quickly do the math. We were going at it for three hours? Holy crap! I have never…..words escape my brain and I am dumbfounded. Oh. My. God.

I think back over our lovemaking, everything he did to me, how I reacted to him, how he made me feel. I am shocked as my body begins to react physically to my thoughts.

I want him again, my brain says in wonder.

No, I need him again, my body screams back.

I climb back onto the bed and kneel next to him. He is on his back, completely naked, sheets down around his feet. I study every inch of him.

His face is incredibly handsome. His arms and legs are long, well-muscled. His chest is defined; not well-defined, but enough to let me know that at one time, when he was younger, he must have worked out a lot. He has gone soft around the middle, and there are faint love handles. Ordinarily, the superficial part of me would have been turned off by even the smallest amount of flab around a man's waist, but I am turned on by Mike's. It shows just how soft his hard body can be. How soft his soul and manner can be, and had been toward me last night. I shudder at the memory of the orgasms he had given me.

I reach out and trace his profile. Down his forehead, over his patrician nose, dipping over the softness of his lips; I follow the contours of his chin, feeling the light stubble prickle my fingertips and cause them to tingle. Over his neck and down to his chest, I continue on, learning his body, feeling his muscles flex in response. I flatten my hand out and smooth it over his chest, followed by my other hand. I continue to massage him gently in this way, aware that he is awakening.

I bend over and kiss his lips. When I raise my head up, his eyes are open and he is regarding me intently. He reaches out and pushes my hair back from my face, capturing the nape of my neck in his large hand. Mike pulls me towards him, but I resist and his eyes flare. I smile sweetly.

"My turn," my husky voice tells him softly. His eyebrows raise and his eyes dance in delight as a small smile plays at the corners of his mouth. Unable to resist his charm, I allow him to pull me down to his face, opening my lips to his deep, breathtaking kiss. Desire ignites instantly, and I feel myself grow damp as the muscles of my crotch clinch and release in anticipation. I flatten myself completely against him, pressing him hard into the bed, enjoying his growl of delight that rumbles deep in his chest. I feel his stomach muscles jump and tighten in response. His legs clinch together and I can tell that he is as excited as I am.

Sighing deeply, I end the kiss and push myself back up, pulling my hair out of the way. I reach out for the bedside table, open the drawer and pull out a large hair clip. Quickly, I twist my hair and secure it to the back of my head with the clip. Mike frowns.

"I want it out of my way. You can pull it back down later," I promise him.

I position myself so that I am straddling his legs and rise up on my knees. Leaning over, I give his nipples and chest the same kind of attention he gave mine. Nipping, suckling and kneading, I delight in the noises he makes as my ministrations arouse him. Every moan and groan he makes sends a wave of pleasure through me and I find myself becoming aroused.

I leave a path of kisses in my wake as I take my mouth lower and lower down his torso. I torment his naval with my tongue, just as he did mine. I take great delight in learning that this drives him as crazy as it did me. I discover that rubbing my breasts up and down his torso causes him to squirm and purr. His deep voice rumbling in his chest further excites me.

When I rub my breasts up and down his thighs, sandwiching his penis between them, his reaction delights and pleases me. He hardens instantly and once more I am thrilled at the power I have over him. I continue to rub him up and down with my breasts until they are full and aching with pleasure and desire.

Next, I push his legs apart and kneel between them. I lick my lips until they are wet with warm saliva and slowly begin to take his penis into my mouth. He gasps and moans and cries out; I purr and tingle and take him in as deeply as I can. I suck him, hard, and revel in his response. He begins to dig his heels into the bed as he continues to moan. I can feel him growing longer and harder inside my mouth, and when I taste the slight saltiness of his pre-ejaculate on my tongue, I know he is ready.

I slide up his body until I am straddling his hips. I pleasure myself by rubbing my crotch up and down the length of his erection. He reaches up and cups my breasts, one in each hand, and rubs and tweaks the nipples until they are throbbing and aching and I am nearly out of my mind with need.

I move and take him completely inside me. He moans; I sigh. The tension builds inside me until I am forced to move. I had a boyfriend who loved having me on top; he taught me all sorts of tricks to increase our mutual pleasure and I greedily and selfishly begin to employ them now.

Every move I make causes Mike to moan, low and deep. The vibrations of his voice stir even more passion deep within me and soon I am climaxing around him, clutching his shoulders tightly. Mike grabs my waist with his hands and continues to move me up and down on his penis and I realize that he is not quite there yet. Squeezing his hips tighter with my legs, I force myself to pump harder, take him in deeper. All of a sudden, I find myself climaxing again, harder, longer and bigger this time. I hear screams as my brain explodes and millions of shooting stars fill my vision. I move again, and hear a very primal, very male roar as Mike's climax overtakes him. I continue to slide up and down his penis until there is nothing left of either one of us, and I collapse on top of him. Mike pulls the sheet over us and we fall asleep.

The next time I wake up, I smell coffee. Coffee….and….something else. I inhale deeply as a stretch out in the bed. The realization that I am all alone in my big bed hits me the same time that my brain identifies the wonderful smell. Bacon. Someone has made coffee and is cooking bacon in my kitchen.

Mike.

I sigh with pleasure and sink back down into the bed. The most incredible man I have ever met made the most incredible love I have ever had and is now making me breakfast. Whatever it is, I'm sure it will be incredible.

I hear whistling coming faintly through the doorway and I smile. I wonder what, if anything, he is wearing. Is he rustling around in my kitchen wearing only his sexy jeans slung low on his hips? Or is he naked? I doubt he's naked; no man in his right mind would dare cook bacon naked, and Mike is most definitely a man in his right mind.

Should I get up and go in there? Maybe if I lay here long enough, he'll come through that door, bearing bacon and coffee, and climb back in bed and feed it to me. I could feed it to him and then we could….

Judith! I fuss at myself, shocked at where my thoughts are leading me.

Well, I answer back. What's wrong with spending more time in bed with him? It was wonderful, wasn't it?

I'm a bit miffed at myself for getting huffy.

What if he has to go to work today? Doesn't he have to go sit at the hospital with Bobby?

So? He can be late for work, and Amy will understand.

I can't believe I'm arguing with myself. I sit up and flip the pillows over to the cold side and pound on them to fluff them up.

What if he didn't enjoy last night as much as I did?

That stops me cold. That's what's really bothering me, isn't it? That last night won't mean as much to him as it does to me. I can't go back to just dating now. I'm his. His and his alone. I gave myself totally and completely to him and I don't want to take it back.

The whistling grows louder and I realize that he is coming closer to my bedroom door. I force myself to smile at him when he opens the door.

"Morning, little lady," he drawls.

God, he's gorgeous, I think. It's not hard at all to smile at him. He is framed by the doorway, wearing only those low-slung jeans, feet bare, adorable crooked smile on that handsome face. He is holding a steaming mug in one hand and a plate in the other.

"I hope you don't mind. I made you some breakfast." Mike raises the plate slightly as he walks towards me.

All I can do is shake my head and stare at him. Incredible.

I force myself to reach out for the coffee and inhale its powerful aroma. I blow across the top of the hot liquid and gingerly take a sip.

It is hot, but it is good. Very good, in fact. I didn't know I had coffee this good in my cabinet. I take another sip and close my eyes and hum as it makes its way down my throat, warming my body, waking me up.

"I'm glad you like it," Mike says, relieved. "I wasn't sure how strong you made yours, so I made it the way I like it."

"I like your way very much." I smile at him.

He moves around to the other side of the bed and sits down carefully. He is still holding the plate of bacon and sets it on my lap. There are eight or nine pieces; more than enough for us both.

I look at him questioningly.

"All I could l find in your kitchen was bacon. Do you even eat breakfast?"

I look guiltily down at my coffee mug and shake my head.

"You should. Most important meal of the day, you know." Mike snags a piece off the plate, and takes a bite as he slides off the bed. "Be right back."

I aimlessly nibble on a slice of bacon as I wait for him to return. I want to bring up last night, to apologize if necessary, but I don't know how.

Mike returns with his own cup of coffee and rejoins me on the bed. He grabs another piece of bacon then realizes that I am still holding my first piece.

"What's the matter? You don't like bacon?" He points at the slice in my hand.

"I do, it's just..." My voice trails off and I drink more of my coffee.

Mike reaches out and gently turns my face towards his. He says nothing, but strokes my cheek and waits for me to speak again.

"Mike, I…" I brush his hand away and look down. I don't know how to begin and can't bear to look at him for fear of what I might find in his eyes.

He takes the plate of food and sets it and his mug on the table next to the bed. He then takes my mug away from me and puts it on the table. He sits up, pulls me upright and takes both my hands in his, forcing me to face him and the current situation.

"What's wrong?"

I look up at him, searching his eyes and face for answers. I can tell he sees the uncertainty in mine.

"Oh, I see," he says. Lying back down on his side, he gently pulls me down and tucks me in next to him.

"I enjoyed last night," he reassures me.

"Really?" Relief begins to wash over me. "I mean, I wasn't sure. I…we…waited…so long, and I was concerned that you didn't…"

"Last night was incredible. Honestly." he lightly runs his finger down my neck and cleavage, leaving sparks in its wake. "May I remind you just how incredible it was?"

"Yes, please," I moan as he lowers his head to kiss me.


	6. Chapter 6

**Logan's Lady Chapter 6**

I force myself to l lie still and let him have his way with me. I occupy my hands by wrapping my arms around him. I cry out and grasp his back when his hand slides inside my pants and up under my bottom, caressing my buttock, pulling me into him. I hear him chuckle at my reaction and I whimper for more.

He shifts now to lie beside me, and his hand moves up to caress my hip bone and the top of my thigh. I whine in disappointment when he pulls his hands away. I sigh in satisfaction when he pulls my tap pants down, delighting in the delicious torment he is creating as he slowly slides the silken fabric down my legs. He tosses them onto the floor and returns to lie beside me.

He strokes my cheek, and I take his little finger into my mouth and suck it, hard, enjoying his gasp of pleasure. Removing his finger, he slides his hand slowly down to my chest and tweaks and caresses each nipple in turn. I am once again wriggling with desire, anxious to feel him touching my clitoris, stroking the wet folds of my vagina, inserting first his fingers, then his penis into me.

His mouth replaces his hand as it journeys down to my abdomen, stroking, teasing, sending me higher, driving me more and more wild. He lightly brushes his fingers across the hairs on my crotch and I cry out at the bolt of sensation that shoots through me. He does it again, more firmly this time, and I hear myself begging him to touch me.

He surprises me by taking my hand and leading it to his crotch, wrapping it around his erection. I realize that he is as desperate for my touch as I am for his, and eagerly rub my hand up and down its length. It is hard and firm, vibrant and alive. Touching him arouses me even further and I frantically grab the waistband of his boxer shorts and begin to tug them off. He reaches behind his back to help me, and soon we are both completely naked.

I press myself full against him and sigh. "I need this."

Mike sighs and holds me close. "I need this, too." He pauses. "Do I need protection?"

"No, I'm on the pill," I say. Can this really be about to happen?

Mike's hands move down my back to cup my bottom and pull me into him once more.

Yes. It really is.

Mike gently pushes me onto my back, settling himself between my legs. He kisses me deeply and I fly.

I shift, adjusting my hips and rubbing myself against the length of his shaft. He realizes what I am doing and groans as my movements give him pleasure; he shifts his hips from side to side, further adding to our mutual excitement and growing pleasure.

Mike presses himself hard against me and slowly tilts his hips, sliding his incredibly long, hard penis very slowly down my crotch, until the tip is pressing against the wet folds of my vagina. I gasp, then sigh as my body opens fully and he slips inside, filling me more completely than I could ever imagine.

Once completely inside, he stills, reveling in the feel of my warmth around him. I moan and wrap my arms around his broad torso. He moans and slips his hands underneath me, wrapping me in his strong arms.

"You feel so good," he growls into my ear.

"So do you," I whisper in response.

My heartbeat levels out as we remain perfectly still, feeling, experiencing, enjoying. Slowly, I feel the tension beginning to mount as I start to ache for the ultimate release. I press the small of my back into the mattress, tilting my hips and taking Mike just one notch further inside me.

He gasps, astonished that I can contain all of him. He pulls his head back and gazes at me in wonder. His head dips slowly and his lips gently sink down onto mine. My head begins to swim as he deepens the kiss. Mike's tongue is the only part of his body that is moving, and it makes incredible love with mine while all the while there is a liquid burning building up from deep within me. It threatens to consume me and I moan deeply and try to squirm, but Mike holds me still, loving me only with his tongue.

I feel the orgasm begin to well up within me and I am helpless against it. The muscles of my groin and vagina tense and release, clinching tighter and tighter every time as waves of passion wash harder and harder over me. I barely register that Mike is struggling hard to control his own climax as the most amazing orgasm overtakes me and I explode in ecstasy.

As I begin to float back down to earth, Mike eases up on my lips. He showers them with light tender kisses, then rains the most gentle of caresses all over my face as I ease down from the heights of pleasure. Before I can land on the bed again, Mike begins to move inside me. Slowly he pulls himself back until just the tip of his manhood is nestled in the tender, fleshy folds between my legs. Just as slowly, he sinks back into me and I cry out as sensation rises in me once more.

Over and over, he tortures us both with his slow movements. His moans join mine as my body tightens around him, pulling him back in, taking him higher, too. I bend my knees and pull my legs as far apart as I can, allowing him complete and total access to my body.

"Mike!" My voice begs.

In response, he quickens his movements and mine match his. Together, we press on, higher and higher, faster and harder. I can feel him swelling inside me and I love it. I love everything he is doing to me. I never knew sex could be so incredible, so fulfilling.

I can sense the change in Mike as he nears orgasm and I wrap my legs around his waist. The sensation his movements now create in me is like nothing I have ever experienced, and I cry out loudly as another huge orgasm overtakes me. Every thrust he makes inside me now causes me to climax and soon his own loud moans of pleasure join mine as I shudder deeply with every orgasm. He roars loudly as he climaxes and he presses himself deeply into me several more times. I come with every thrust, although the sensations are less and less each time. Soon I am limp, sweaty, and very, very satisfied.

"How are you," Mike asks after he finally regains his voice.

"Oh," I stutter. I run my hand through my hair and flop my arm heavily down on the bed. "That….that…was…." I giggle.

"Yeah." He struggles to raise his head and look at me. "Wow."

"Uh…huh," I agree. We are both panting hard.

He shifts and I feel him start to slip away from me.

"Don't move," I whine.

"I'm sorry, Baby, I have to; there's nothing left." He shifts off me, then gathers me in his arms and tucks me securely into his side. I melt into him. I could stay like this forever.

He kisses my hair and strokes my back gently. Soon we are both asleep; a deep, satisfied, restful sleep.

A few hours later, I awaken. I need to go to the bathroom. After carefully extricating myself from Mike's limbs so as not to wake him up, I slip off the bed and head for the bathroom. I can hardly move, I am so sore and stretched out from our lovemaking.

I freeze in my tracks as I realize what I have just thought.

Lovemaking. I actually _made love_ to a man tonight. For the first time. Ever. I force myself to move into the bathroom.

Don't get me wrong, I've had sex; wild sex; hot sex; I wasn't a virgin. But – I have never felt like I _made love_ with a partner before. It was just sex; a release; a brief connection. This…this was more; way more. I explore those thoughts as I take care of my needs in the bathroom. I study my face in the mirror; I don't _look_ any different, but I sure do _feel_ different. I turn off the light and return to the bed.

I stand by the bed and stare down at the sleeping male form of Mike Logan. He is incredible in the faint light of the city that glows around the edges of my curtains. I take in his long limbs, his broad chest, his strong hands that so gently and tenderly took me to heights of passion I had only imagined, or even faked, before. A glance at the clock makes me gasp; we had moved into my bedroom around 9 last night; it was now 3 am. I vaguely remember falling asleep with the numbers glowing 12:30. I quickly do the math. We were going at it for three hours? Holy crap! I have never…..words escape my brain and I am dumbfounded. Oh. My. God.

I think back over our lovemaking, everything he did to me, how I reacted to him, how he made me feel. I am shocked as my body begins to react physically to my thoughts.

I want him again, my brain says in wonder.

No, I need him again, my body screams back.

I climb back onto the bed and kneel next to him. He is on his back, completely naked, sheets down around his feet. I study every inch of him.

His face is incredibly handsome. His arms and legs are long, well-muscled. His chest is defined; not well-defined, but enough to let me know that at one time, when he was younger, he must have worked out a lot. He has gone soft around the middle, and there are faint love handles. Ordinarily, the superficial part of me would have been turned off by even the smallest amount of flab around a man's waist, but I am turned on by Mike's. It shows just how soft his hard body can be. How soft his soul and manner can be, and had been toward me last night. I shudder at the memory of the orgasms he had given me.

I reach out and trace his profile. Down his forehead, over his patrician nose, dipping over the softness of his lips; I follow the contours of his chin, feeling the light stubble prickle my fingertips and cause them to tingle. Over his neck and down to his chest, I continue on, learning his body, feeling his muscles flex in response. I flatten my hand out and smooth it over his chest, followed by my other hand. I continue to massage him gently in this way, aware that he is awakening.

I bend over and kiss his lips. When I raise my head up, his eyes are open and he is regarding me intently. He reaches out and pushes my hair back from my face, capturing the nape of my neck in his large hand. Mike pulls me towards him, but I resist and his eyes flare. I smile sweetly.

"My turn," my husky voice tells him softly. His eyebrows raise and his eyes dance in delight as a small smile plays at the corners of his mouth. Unable to resist his charm, I allow him to pull me down to his face, opening my lips to his deep, breathtaking kiss. Desire ignites instantly, and I feel myself grow damp as the muscles of my crotch clinch and release in anticipation. I flatten myself completely against him, pressing him hard into the bed, enjoying his growl of delight that rumbles deep in his chest. I feel his stomach muscles jump and tighten in response. His legs clinch together and I can tell that he is as excited as I am.

Sighing deeply, I end the kiss and push myself back up, pulling my hair out of the way. I reach out for the bedside table, open the drawer and pull out a large hair clip. Quickly, I twist my hair and secure it to the back of my head with the clip. Mike frowns.

"I want it out of my way. You can pull it back down later," I promise him.

I position myself so that I am straddling his legs and rise up on my knees. Leaning over, I give his nipples and chest the same kind of attention he gave mine. Nipping, suckling and kneading, I delight in the noises he makes as my ministrations arouse him. Every moan and groan he makes sends a wave of pleasure through me and I find myself becoming aroused.

I leave a path of kisses in my wake as I take my mouth lower and lower down his torso. I torment his naval with my tongue, just as he did mine. I take great delight in learning that this drives him as crazy as it did me. I discover that rubbing my breasts up and down his torso causes him to squirm and purr. His deep voice rumbling in his chest further excites me.

When I rub my breasts up and down his thighs, sandwiching his penis between them, his reaction delights and pleases me. He hardens instantly and once more I am thrilled at the power I have over him. I continue to rub him up and down with my breasts until they are full and aching with pleasure and desire.

Next, I push his legs apart and kneel between them. I lick my lips until they are wet with warm saliva and slowly begin to take his penis into my mouth. He gasps and moans and cries out; I purr and tingle and take him in as deeply as I can. I suck him, hard, and revel in his response. He begins to dig his heels into the bed as he continues to moan. I can feel him growing longer and harder inside my mouth, and when I taste the slight saltiness of his pre-ejaculate on my tongue, I know he is ready.

I slide up his body until I am straddling his hips. I pleasure myself by rubbing my crotch up and down the length of his erection. He reaches up and cups my breasts, one in each hand, and rubs and tweaks the nipples until they are throbbing and aching and I am nearly out of my mind with need.

I move and take him completely inside me. He moans; I sigh. The tension builds inside me until I am forced to move. I had a boyfriend who loved having me on top; he taught me all sorts of tricks to increase our mutual pleasure and I greedily and selfishly begin to employ them now.

Every move I make causes Mike to moan, low and deep. The vibrations of his voice stir even more passion deep within me and soon I am climaxing around him, clutching his shoulders tightly. Mike grabs my waist with his hands and continues to move me up and down on his penis and I realize that he is not quite there yet. Squeezing his hips tighter with my legs, I force myself to pump harder, take him in deeper. All of a sudden, I find myself climaxing again, harder, longer and bigger this time. I hear screams as my brain explodes and millions of shooting stars fill my vision. I move again, and hear a very primal, very male roar as Mike's climax overtakes him. I continue to slide up and down his penis until there is nothing left of either one of us, and I collapse on top of him. Mike pulls the sheet over us and we fall asleep.

The next time I wake up, I smell coffee. Coffee….and….something else. I inhale deeply as a stretch out in the bed. The realization that I am all alone in my big bed hits me the same time that my brain identifies the wonderful smell. Bacon. Someone has made coffee and is cooking bacon in my kitchen.

Mike.

I sigh with pleasure and sink back down into the bed. The most incredible man I have ever met made the most incredible love I have ever had and is now making me breakfast. Whatever it is, I'm sure it will be incredible.

I hear whistling coming faintly through the doorway and I smile. I wonder what, if anything, he is wearing. Is he rustling around in my kitchen wearing only his sexy jeans slung low on his hips? Or is he naked? I doubt he's naked; no man in his right mind would dare cook bacon naked, and Mike is most definitely a man in his right mind.

Should I get up and go in there? Maybe if I lay here long enough, he'll come through that door, bearing bacon and coffee, and climb back in bed and feed it to me. I could feed it to him and then we could….

Judith! I fuss at myself, shocked at where my thoughts are leading me.

Well, I answer back. What's wrong with spending more time in bed with him? It was wonderful, wasn't it?

I'm a bit miffed at myself for getting huffy.

What if he has to go to work today? Doesn't he have to go sit at the hospital with Bobby?

So? He can be late for work, and Amy will understand.

I can't believe I'm arguing with myself. I sit up and flip the pillows over to the cold side and pound on them to fluff them up.

What if he didn't enjoy last night as much as I did?

That stops me cold. That's what's really bothering me, isn't it? That last night won't mean as much to him as it does to me. I can't go back to just dating now. I'm his. His and his alone. I gave myself totally and completely to him and I don't want to take it back.

The whistling grows louder and I realize that he is coming closer to my bedroom door. I force myself to smile at him when he opens the door.

"Morning, little lady," he drawls.

God, he's gorgeous, I think. It's not hard at all to smile at him. He is framed by the doorway, wearing only those low-slung jeans, feet bare, adorable crooked smile on that handsome face. He is holding a steaming mug in one hand and a plate in the other.

"I hope you don't mind. I made you some breakfast." Mike raises the plate slightly as he walks towards me.

All I can do is shake my head and stare at him. Incredible.

I force myself to reach out for the coffee and inhale its powerful aroma. I blow across the top of the hot liquid and gingerly take a sip.

It is hot, but it is good. Very good, in fact. I didn't know I had coffee this good in my cabinet. I take another sip and close my eyes and hum as it makes its way down my throat, warming my body, waking me up.

"I'm glad you like it," Mike says, relieved. "I wasn't sure how strong you made yours, so I made it the way I like it."

"I like your way very much." I smile at him.

He moves around to the other side of the bed and sits down carefully. He is still holding the plate of bacon and sets it on my lap. There are eight or nine pieces; more than enough for us both.

I look at him questioningly.

"All I could l find in your kitchen was bacon. Do you even eat breakfast?"

I look guiltily down at my coffee mug and shake my head.

"You should. Most important meal of the day, you know." Mike snags a piece off the plate, and takes a bite as he slides off the bed. "Be right back."

I aimlessly nibble on a slice of bacon as I wait for him to return. I want to bring up last night, to apologize if necessary, but I don't know how.

Mike returns with his own cup of coffee and rejoins me on the bed. He grabs another piece of bacon then realizes that I am still holding my first piece.

"What's the matter? You don't like bacon?" He points at the slice in my hand.

"I do, it's just..." My voice trails off and I drink more of my coffee.

Mike reaches out and gently turns my face towards his. He says nothing, but strokes my cheek and waits for me to speak again.

"Mike, I…" I brush his hand away and look down. I don't know how to begin and can't bear to look at him for fear of what I might find in his eyes.

He takes the plate of food and sets it and his mug on the table next to the bed. He then takes my mug away from me and puts it on the table. He sits up, pulls me upright and takes both my hands in his, forcing me to face him and the current situation.

"What's wrong?"

I look up at him, searching his eyes and face for answers. I can tell he sees the uncertainty in mine.

"Oh, I see," he says. Lying back down on his side, he gently pulls me down and tucks me in next to him.

"I enjoyed last night," he reassures me.

"Really?" Relief begins to wash over me. "I mean, I wasn't sure. I…we…waited…so long, and I was concerned that you didn't…"

"Last night was incredible. Honestly." he lightly runs his finger down my neck and cleavage, leaving sparks in its wake. "May I remind you just how incredible it was?"

"Yes, please," I moan as he lowers his head to kiss me.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

_ She intrigues me. Excites me and intrigues me. I think about her and my body grows hot; hot and hard and aroused. Instantly. I can't sleep without dreaming of her; her lying next to me, her red hair wonderfully tousled from our lovemaking; her under me, taking me inside her, wet and hot. Every time I close my eyes, it is her I see. Samantha is the subject of wet dreams I haven't had since I was a horny teenage boy trying to understand his hormones. I'm crazy._

_ Crazy about her._

_ The realization warms me. It fills an emptiness inside me I never knew I had until I met her._

It is so much fun to write in first person. Inspired, I sit cross-legged on the sofa, laptop open, typing swiftly and surely as words and images pour out of me and become the electronic bits and bytes that make up the words rapidly filling my computer's monitor. I write for hours, using the wonderful relationship I have with Mike as the inspiration for the sizzling romance Ron and Samantha are having. I am careful to change the details as I still have not told Mike that he and I are the basis of my current book. I'm not sure how he'll react, how I'll react if he were to discover that I was putting the explicit details of our incredibly amazing sex life on paper and possibly into publication.

We've been sexually active for several weeks now, and I've never had so much mind-blowing sex in my entire life. Mike is the most amazing lover I've ever had. He does things to my body I never thought possible. His attentiveness to my needs is touching. He seems to know what I need before I do and can't seem to get enough of me, of kissing me, touching me, filling me with that incredible cock of his. Just thinking about him has me wet with arousal and throbbing with need.

It's more than just desire. More than just want. More than just sex. More than I ever imagined a relationship with a man could be.

I want more. Need more. The forever kind of more. And that scares me. I've never wanted the forever kind of more before. My heart begins to race from the heady combination of emotions that overcomes me: want, desire, fear, excitement, anticipation.

I think I'm falling in love with Mike Logan.

I hope he's falling in love with me.

At that moment, Mike Logan was sitting on a padded stool in mid-town Manhattan, feeling very uncomfortable and very overwhelmed. He was about to make one of the most important decisions of his life.

For the past five months, he'd been getting to know a most incredible woman. She'd captivated him right from the start, and now that they had taken their relationship to the next level and were sleeping together, he was a goner.

All his life, he'd laughed at his friends as they fell prey, one by one, to the opposite sex, never imagining that one day he'd be one of the fallen. But here he was, on the ground (metaphorically speaking), and happier than he'd been in a long time.

He stared at the objects in front of him, finally making a decision. He picked up the one that his eye kept going back to, instinctively knowing that this one would be perfect. He studied it carefully, turning it over in his fingers, examining it under the light of the lamp near his elbow. Satisfied, he handed the object over to the lovely woman who'd been helping him.

"This one," he stated.

She smiled and nodded. "Excellent choice, sir."

Afterwards, he stood on the sidewalk in the bright sunlight of a cold January day in New York City and pulled out his cell phone. He flipped it open and pressed the keys for her number.

"Hey gorgeous," he growled when she answered. A smile teased the corners of his mouth and his eyes sparkled and danced as they talked. His hand played with his purchase, now resting in the pocket of his suit coat. He had never purchased anything like this in his life and was anxious and nervous. He had never been more sure of his decision, though, confident in what he was doing and how he felt.

"I would like to take you to dinner tonight," he told her as he entered the lobby of the building holding the offices of the Wainwright Foundation. "Can you be ready when I get home this evening?"

"Absolutely," Judith answered. She was delighted he was taking her out. Women stared at Mike longingly, making her glow with the satisfaction that he was hers. She loved seeing the jealous looks on their faces when Mike would caress her arm, or tenderly kiss her cheek when they were out in public together. She was also aware of the jealous looks that Mike got from the men who ogled her. She knew it made him proud that she was his.

When Mike told her where they were going, she raised her eyebrows. "Really? That fancy, huh? I guess you want me to dress up then. What's the occasion?"

"Can't I take my woman out for a good meal without there being a particular reason," he countered back.

"Sure, you can. I was just curious."

"Don't be. Curiosity'll get you into trouble if you're not careful." Mike's low voice was warm with warning in her ear.

"I love trouble," she purred. "Don't you know that by now?"

"Damn it, woman! You're killing me, talking like that."

She laughed, her voice soft and husky. "Well then, why don't you come home and do something about it?"

"I can't, and you know it," he snapped tersely. "Trey and I have our final presentations to the Petersen Group this afternoon, then a meeting with Amy to discuss Amy and Trey's upcoming trip to Turkey."

"I know," she huffed.

Mike could picture her pouting and smiled.

"Just be ready, okay," he implored.

"Okay," she demurred.

"That's a good girl," he teased, knowing it would get her riled up.

Then, "I love you, Judith," he added impulsively. Swiftly, he disconnected the call, then deliberately turned off the phone, a "shit-eating grin" lighting up his face as he walked into his office.

Did he just? Omigod! He DID!

It is all I can do to keep the laptop from sliding off the couch and crashing onto the floor as the realization of what Mike just said to me sinks into my brain. The weight of his words hit me like a ton of bricks and send my heart soaring to the heavens at the same time.

_He loves me._

I don't know whether to laugh or cry. I stare at the phone as I realize he hung up on me. Punching buttons, I try desperately to call him back, only to get voice mail.

He turned off the phone! That bastard! He deliberately turned off his phone, knowing full well I'd be trying to call him back.

_He loves me._

I really should be mad that he told me over the phone, but I can't, because it's so perfectly Mike to do that. Now I have to wait until I see him tonight to tell him. He won't turn his phone back on at all. I know him too well by now. I could call him and leave him a dozen voice and text messages and it won't matter. He won't call back; he'll just wait until he gets here to pick me up for dinner.

Dinner. At ONE. Wow.

ONE is one of the classiest, hottest restaurants in town right now. You have to call in for a reservation months in advance. Or else know someone. But, now that Mike works for the Wainwrights, he gets into all kinds of places. Especially since the winery is one of the restaurant's providers. But, still.

I think about this evening as I take a long shower and dress. I know how much Mike loves a certain emerald green dress, so that's what I pick out. I decide to go with gold accessories, choosing my favorite gold Manalo Blahnick heels along with a sparkly gold clutch and simple gold jewelry. I carefully dry my hair and style it to be full and wavy, just the way Mike likes it. I love dressing up for him; he notices every detail and appreciates my effort.

I can't help but wonder what he's up to. He's been awfully secretive lately, like he wants to tell me something, but can't quite decide if he should or not.

Two days ago, he came at me out of the blue with whether or not our age difference bothered me. We get along so well, I hadn't even thought about his age. I was initially shocked to discover that he's 51, but it quickly wore off when he kissed me and showed me just how aroused I made him. He may not be able to make love more than once or twice a night, but he takes his time with it, and never fails to leave me satisfied, multiple times, every time.

_God, I love this man._

I freeze and drop my necklace. It falls unnoticed to the floor as I stare at my reflection in the mirror above my dresser.

I love Mike Logan.

My hands instinctively cover my cheeks and mouth as I continue to stare at myself in wonder.

Can it be? I search my heart. Yes. It can be. It is. My eyes sparkle back at me and I begin to grin like an idiot. I feel like shrieking "Weeee!" and whirling and twirling with joy.

I hear a throat-clearing "ahem" and jump slightly. I catch Mike's eye in the mirror. He is standing in the doorway to my bedroom, looking devilishly handsome in his dark suit. There is a curious look on his face and a single, long-stemmed red rose in his hand.

My face softens and I smile lovingly at him. I turn slowly, giving him plenty of time to notice me, to notice how I've dressed up just for him.

He notices all right. His expression changes from curiosity to appreciation as he drinks in the sight of me. I shiver under the intensity of his stare, and his eyes darken with desire in response. He crosses the room swiftly and pulls me into his arms. His lips cover mine, demanding and firm. I open them, only to be plundered by his tongue as it makes love to my mouth, leaving me clinging weakly to him. The kiss changes suddenly from one of passion to one of tenderness and uncertainty.

I pull back and look into his eyes. As I study him, I realize that his uncertainty is due to the way he ended our phone conversation this afternoon. I smile shyly and run my finger over his lower lip. I look back up into his deep brown eyes and meet him square on with an answering look of my own. I nod my head to reinforce what I hope is all the love I have for him shining in my eyes.

"I love you, too, Mike," I whisper softly.

He closes his eyes, hugs me even tighter and spins me around. We laugh and hug some more. It is freeing to say it out loud, so I say it again.

"I love you, too, Judith," he answers. Suddenly, he becomes nervous and antsy again.

"Are you all right?"

He nods and clears his throat. "Are you about ready? We have reservations for 7 o'clock."

"Yes. I just need to put on my necklace and grab my purse and coat and I'll be ready."

"You, ah, might want to fix your lipstick," he said, casting me a knowing look.

I narrow my eyes and give him a sharp "hmm" in response. He chuckles deeply, sending shivers of desire up and down my spine. _If we don't get out of here soon, we'll never make it to dinner_, I think to myself as I bend down to retrieve my necklace from the floor.

"Sure we will," Mike answers as I realize I've spoken aloud. "It's a special occasion."

"Oh, really?"

"Really."

We arrive at ONE on time and approach the maitre de's stand.

"Table for Logan," Mike tells the tuxedoed gentleman.

"Yes, sir," he answers smoothly, discreetly signaling the hostess.

We are seated at a table for two set in a semi-private alcove on the second floor. The restaurant is located on the top two floors of a building overlooking Central Park, with walls of windows surrounding the dining areas. Our alcove has a spectacular view of the park set against the sparkling lights of mid-town.

"Beautiful," I breathed, taking in the view of the park after we had been seated.

"Absolutely," Mike agreed. I turn to find him staring not at the park, but at me. I blush and lower my head slightly in acknowledgement.

All through our meal, Mike seems nervous and on edge, but when I ask him about it, he brushes it off as worry about work and Amy and Trey's upcoming trip to Turkey. I'm not sure he's being entirely truthful, but I decide to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Finally, I can stand it anymore.

"Okay," I state firmly. "Out with it. What has you so nervous? I know it's not work, so would you _please _tell me what is bothering you?"

Mike carefully places his fork on his plate. He carefully wipes his mouth with his napkin, then takes a sip of water and clears his throat. As I watch his every deliberate move, I try to remain calm. I'm pretty certain he didn't bring me here to break up with me, not after finally telling me he loves me. There must be something else.

He reaches over and takes my hand. He smiles and I know. I begin to shake as realization hits me, and I barely hear him say once again that he loves me. Time seems to freeze as he slips out of his chair onto one knee in front of me, never letting go of my hand. My left hand.

His hand dips into his jacket pocket and back out again.

"Judith?" He waits until I make eye contact with him again. "Will you marry me?"

My world dips and spins as my heart leaps for joy. With tears streaming down my face, I lean towards him and whisper, "Yes. Yes, I'll marry you, Mike Logan."

I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him as he stands and pulls me up against him. I barely register the applause that breaks out from the other diners around us.

Mike pulls back and takes my left hand again, this time to slip on a huge, dazzling diamond ring. It takes my breath away as I stare at it in wonder.

"Do you like it?" I hear the uncertainty in his voice, and look up at him.

"Like it? I love it. It's perfect." I caress his face reassuringly. "Thank you."

"I have another surprise for you," Mike says next as he picks up my clutch from the table.

I raise one questioning eyebrow.

"We are going downstairs for champagne and dessert."

"Oh!"

Mike offers his elbow and escorts me downstairs. We receive congratulations from the other diners as we pass and I delight in showing off my ring and beaming with happiness.

When we arrive downstairs, Mike takes me off to the side and into a smaller, private dining area. A waiter greets our arrival at the doorway with two flutes of champagne, then gestures us into the room.

I'm stunned to see my friends and family seated around the room.

"Well," my dad's voice booms out. "What did she say, Mike?"

"She said, 'yes,'" Mike exclaimed as the room erupted in cheers.

I'm overwhelmed and stare open-mouthed at Mike. "You did all this for me?"

He nods.

"Is this what you've been so nervous about lately?"

He nods again. "Guilty."

Setting my glass down on the nearest table, I throw my arms around Mike in a huge hug. Suddenly, my parents are there next to us. My dad wraps me in his arms and hugs me close.

"Mike asked for my permission several days ago. It's taken every ounce of my strength not to say anything. I love you very much, Sweetheart, and I'm so happy for you," he tells me.

"I love you, too, Daddy," I answer and kiss his cheek. I show him the ring. He studies it then hugs me again.

Next, it's my mom's turn. She's crying and laughing at the same time, and I find myself laughing and crying with her. She admires my ring then hugs me close.

"My baby's all grown up," she says with a sob.

My editor is there, along with my grandparents, our next door neighbors and even my four closest girlfriends. Some of Mike's friends are there, too; his old partner, Megan Wheeler, as well as Alex Eames, and his current boss, Bobby Goren. Bobby's girlfriend, Amy is there, too, along with Trey. I'm somewhat embarrassed to see Trey there, as he is my former brother-in-law after all, but he gives me a big hug and congratulates us happily. Bobby studies us both seriously, before hugging me and shaking Mike's hand.

"You've got a good woman there," he tells Mike. "Take care of her."

"You know it," Mike says, returning the handshake.

The rest of the evening passes in a blur of champagne, dancing and decadent desserts. I can't believe I'm engaged to Mike Logan, the most wonderful man in the world.


	8. Chapter 8

**Valentine's Day**

It's the morning of Valentine's Day and I'm sitting at my kitchen table, reading my journal, searching for more inspiration for Ron and Stephanie's story. Thankfully, I'm not under any sort of print requirement by my publisher. I turn in manuscripts when I think they are ready. I made sure I was not going to be required to crank out a book every certain number of months. That would drive me crazy as I work best when the inspiration hits me.

Lately, I've been basking in the glow of my relationship with Mike. He fills my days with fun and my nights with passion. It's been easier to write our story in my journal than to translate it to Ron and Stephanie. Some things are just too private to share.

Mike is at work today. There is a huge gallery opening coming up this weekend, and he is busy putting all the final security arrangements in place. Mike is now the Director of Security for Wainwright Associates, as Bobby Goren has decided that he needs more time off to recover from the injuries he suffered during the explosion. If you ask me, I think Bobby's itching to get back to the police force; he seems lost without his detective shield and crimes to solve.

I read back over our New Year's Eve. We celebrated with the Wainwrights at their big annual event. This year was Patty and AJ's 50th wedding anniversary; as their grandson is my brother-in-law and Mike works for them, we were expected to at least make an appearance. It was a very fun evening filled with laughter and dancing. If I change the venue and the hosts, taking what Mike and I did and putting it in a different situation, it just might work. I grab my pen and start to make notes.

The phone rings, and I jump. As I reach for it, I notice the clock on the stove. 1:30. Wow. I've been working steadily for four hours.

"Hello," I say as my stomach rumbles.

"Hello, Little Lady," a deep voice purrs in my ear.

"Mike," I sigh his name. His voice never fails to send a thrill through me.

"What are you doing?"

"Believe it or not, I'm writing! I got inspired and have been making notes and writing for the last four hours. I'm glad you called; I'd lost all track of time."

"Would you like to go out to dinner tonight," Mike asks. I can tell by the tone of his voice that this isn't a normal date request.

"You need my help with some clients," I ask knowingly.

"Yes. Amy asked me to take her place at the Schwartz's dinner party at 21, and you know how Mrs. Schwartz is always hitting on me."

"She does make you uncomfortable," I chuckle. Mrs. Schwartz only married Mr. Schwartz for his money. After giving him the requisite two sons, she turned her attention elsewhere. She won't leave him, or the money goes away, but that doesn't stop her from playing the field. I'm not sure why Mr. Schwartz won't divorce her for it; it's none of my business, really, but the writer in me is just dying to know.

"A little!" Mike's laugh rumbles in my ear.

"What time should I be ready?"

"I'll have to send a car for you. Can you be ready by 6? Oh, and wear that knock-out green dress. You know the one."

Yes, I did know the one. It was custom-made for me and has been known to reduce every man in the room to a puddle of drool when I wear it. It also causes Mike to not be able to take his eyes off me. Hopefully, we could send a clear message to Mrs. Schwartz that Mike was not available.

Especially now that we are engaged. It's been a month now since that wonderful evening when Mike took me to ONE, got down on his knee and asked me to marry him. I've been wearing the most beautiful ring I've ever seen and glowing bright enough to be seen from outer space in the days since.

Surely, she'll get the message.

She didn't get the message. Dinner was horrible! Try as we might, we could not convince Mrs. Schwartz to keep her hands to herself. Even her husband was no help. If their business wasn't so important to the winery and they weren't such big contributors to the Foundation, I'd be telling Amy to never do business with them again. Mike had to keep his hand on my thigh all night long to keep me from slapping Mrs. Schwartz in the restaurant. He'd give me a squeeze and whisper in my ear for me to breathe. He kept me from committing cold-blooded murder. I love him so much.

This Valentine's Day wasn't a total loss. Mike brought me breakfast in bed, and had roses delivered to the house mid-morning. I found cards and love notes all over the apartment throughout the day. He makes me feel very special, and very loved.

I gave him several cards before he left for work, and promised him a very nice present this evening.

Now that we are back from dinner and I've calmed down, I'm standing in the bathroom, studying my reflection. I'm wearing my present for him. It's a white bra with skimpy white lace panties, a garter belt, white stockings and sinfully high white stilettos. I've never done anything like this for a man; I'm nervous as to what Mike's reaction will be. I take a deep breath, and walk to the bedroom.

Mike is standing at the window, staring out into the dark night. He has shed his coat and tie and untucked his shirt. I watch him, feeling the weight of my engagement ring on my finger, thinking about what I am wearing, and shiver in anticipation

"Happy Valentine's Day, Mike," I say softly. I am standing in the doorway to the bathroom, allowing the light to frame me. I know it's causing me to glow because I moved my big cheval mirror into the center of the room earlier and tried various ways to make myself look seductive and angelic. I want everything to be perfect.

Mike turns and I hear him gasp. His eyes widen, and he whistles softly in appreciation.

"What do you think of your fiancée," I ask softly.

"I think she's gorgeous," Mike answers as he moves towards me.

He pulls me into his arms and kisses me gently. Slowly but surely he increases the pressure of his kiss until he is licking my lips, urging me to open beneath him. I suck his tongue into my mouth, tilting my head at the same time to grant him deeper access. He groans as my body slips perfectly into place against his. I marvel at how complete I feel, pressed up against him like this.

He is hard and powerful and all mine. He lifts one of my legs and wraps it around his hip, slipping his hand under my butt cheek to hold me firmly against him. I gasp at the intimate contact and grind against him, feeling him grow hard. I moan at the pleasure that flows through me, and continue to rub against him intimately, feeling myself grow fuller, hotter and wetter between my legs. Suddenly, I am overcome by an orgasm and I stiffen and shudder as it washes over me.

Mike chuckles and moves his lips across my cheek to my earlobe. He nibbles and suckles and arouses me all over again.

"I plan on making tonight the night of a thousand orgasms for you," his voices low in my ear. I shudder again, and whimper at the thought.

Mike's free hand slides my hair away from my neck so his mouth can move across my throat. He sucks and nips and nibbles some more and I moan and groan and shiver. My knees grow weak and my legs shake from the intensity of my arousal, so Mike slides us over and presses my back against the wall. The cool surface is a shocking contrast to the heat between our bodies, and the thought of Mike taking me up against the wall causes me to whimper in anticipation as a warm gush of liquid arousal floods my thighs.

"Mike…" I moan as his mouth continues to do marvelous things to my neck.

His hands are on the backs of my thighs, his fingers lightly caressing the tops of the stockings. He moves his hands up so that his fingers are teasing the tops of my thighs, causing me to moan even louder. He slides them across my bottom and around to the sides of my hips, where he pulls me against him even harder.

"Can you feel what you do to me," he demands.

"Oh, yes," I respond. "Can you feel what you do to me?" I reach up and undo the buttons of his shirt, shoving the material aside so that I can press my hardened nipples against his bare skin.

He growls and rubs his chest across mine, causing us to moan and groan at the pleasurable sensations that course through our bodies. The room begins to smell of the musky aroma of aroused bodies and further heightens our pleasure.

"Stop, please," I ask softly, as I tug on the sleeves of his shirt. Mike pulls back long enough for us to remove his shirt.

When I reach down to undo his belt buckle, he pulls his hips away, giving me access. I also slide down his zipper, giving his huge erection some room. Wrapping my leg back around his hip, I rub my wet crotch against his hardened penis and he gasps as I soak him with my hot, wet, womanly sex. I chuckle deeply as I feel his penis jump in reaction.

Mike slides his hands up my sides to cup my breasts. He pinches my nipples, swallowing my gasp in his mouth with a deep, hot kiss. He rubs the palms of his hands over my pebbled nipples, making them harder and tauter, arousing me even further as his caresses send shockwaves of pleasure through me. He lifts me up and slides his mouth down my neck, across my chest, over the tops of my breasts. Licking, teasing, but not giving me what I want, making me shake my head back and forth and beg for him to take me into his mouth. Finally, his lips press oh, so faintly onto my nipple, and I jerk. He chuckles and begins to lick my breast, circling his tongue around the sensitive tip before licking it. As I gasp at the sensation, he deepens it further by taking the nipple fully into his mouth and sucking it, long and hard and deep. He continues making love to my breasts until I am nearly out of my mind again with want and desire and need.

Mike pulls back and looks at me, his brown eyes deep and dark with desire.

"I love you," he says low and gruff as he slides my body down his.

When my bottom touches the tip of his erection, I realize what he is doing and lift my other leg. He steps toward the wall, pressing my back firmly into the hard surface, and continues to draw me down onto him. As I sink down over him, taking him inside me, feeling him stretch me and fill me, I sigh. My eyes close and I allow myself to just feel.

"You feel so good," I groan.

"So do you," he replies hoarsely.

Needing him even further inside me, I shift my hips forward. Mike gasps and thrusts back in response. I cry out at the intensity of it, and put my hands on his shoulders.

Mike pulls away slowly, then thrusts up inside me, hard and deep. I cry out in pleasure again.

"Yes, oh, yes, Mike! Like that!"

Several more times Mike draws back slowly, only to return inside me with a hard, sure thrust. I drop my head to his shoulder, gasping and moaning into his neck as he takes me higher and higher. I've never had sex up against a wall before and the sensations are new to me. It is different, more intense. I begin to move with him, shifting my hips up as he pulls me down with each thrust, and the pleasure that streaks through me is amazing. Soon, I am flying as our bodies move and pump, slick and hot, against each other.

Our breathing changes as the sensations increase. We move faster, and I force myself to relax and let go, to just feel and not force my climax. It begins to overtake me, harder and more intense than I have ever felt before and I buck and rock against him as wave after wave after wave of the most intense pleasure begins to rip me apart. I feel as though my brain is flying out the top of my head and I scream as I climax numerous times. Before I can fully comprehend what is happening, I feel the change in Mike's body as he begins to climax. I squeeze my muscles tightly around him, desiring to give him the same enormous pleasure, and hear myself scream as yet another huge climax overtakes me and we fly apart together.

Several long moments later, exhausted and spent, I realize we are on the floor. Mike's shirt is still on his arms, his pants around his ankles. My panties are torn from our lovemaking. We are in a limp, tangled heap. The aroma of sex hovers in the air above us. I can hear the sound of our breathing returning to normal. I am too tired to move; too spent to speak.

I shift my head so that I can see Mike, and find him staring at me, a stunned but satisfied expression on his face.

"Wow," I whisper.

"Wow is right," he whispers back. "That was….well…."he sighs; there are no words to describe what just happened between us.

"Happy Valentine's Day?"

"Yeah, Happy Valentine's Day!"

We laugh as we help each other up off the floor. We clean up, and crawl into bed. I curl up next to him, and fall into a blissful sleep.

A few hours later, I awake, needing to go to the bathroom. I slip out of bed and into the bathroom, take care of my business and grab my robe. I am hungry and head into the kitchen in search of a snack.

I grab a cup of yogurt and sit at the table. My new tablet computer is in front of me and I swipe my fingers across the screen, bringing it to life.

Wondering what is in my email, I thumb the envelope icon and watch as it opens, revealing its contents. I scan the list quickly, seeing what might jump out. I have to laugh and roll my eyes at email after email from my best friend Rhonda, each containing links to bridal-themed web sites. I think she's more excited about planning the wedding than I am. If she could have her way, I'd get married in a huge gown, in a big church with 600 guests and a reception to beat all receptions. Me, I just want to get married on a beach somewhere warm, where I can sink my toes in the sand afterwards and make love in the waves on the shore of a secluded inlet. I sigh and move on down the list.

An email from my publisher catches my eye. She wants me to do a press tour for my last book. I hate press tours. Pass.

I hear a noise behind me and glance over my shoulder. It is Mike, come into the kitchen in search of me.

"Can't sleep," he asks.

"Not really; I'm restless tonight."

"I think I have a cure for that," he says with a grin.

"I'm sure you do," I answer. I sigh as I shut off the computer; my eyes had landed on Rhonda's email again. The look of mild displeasure on my face must have been apparent, for Mike asked me what was wrong.

"Oh, it's my friend, Rhonda. She's practically got my whole wedding planned out for me without any input from me. If she had her way, I'd be in a big tacky wedding gown in a big church with a big audience."

"And how do you see us getting married?"

So I tell him.

** 6 months later…**

We are standing on a private beach on St. Lucia. I'm wearing the gown of my dreams, a simple sheath that makes me feel regal and elegant. I am barefoot and my toes are digging into the sand. Across from me, is the man of my dreams, Mike Logan. He is resplendent in chinos and a white linen shirt. He, too, is barefoot.

Heather is my maid of honor. Bobby is Mike's best man. The day is gorgeous. I have never been happier.

Later, after everyone has left and we are alone, Mike takes me back down to the beach and makes slow, sensuous love with me in the shallow surf.

Life is good.


	9. Chapter 9

Epilogue

Six months later, I stand barefoot on a warm Caribbean beach. My toes are dug into the sand and I am facing Mike, as he recites his vows to me. Rhonda looks positively radiant in her sundress, in spite of not being front and center in a big church with a big crowd. I am in a gauzy white wedding dress, flowers in my hair, and Mike is in cream linen pants and a white linen shirt. He, too, is barefoot and smiling from ear to ear as he says his vows of love and fidelity. The man who would never get married is happily doing just that.

My parents are here, as is my former brother-in-law, Trey. The man who brought us together is all smiles as he watches us get married.

Later, after our guests have left, Mike and I are alone on the resort's secluded private beach.

"Do you know what the other part of my fantasy wedding is," I ask my husband.

"No, wife. I don't," he says, giggling with happiness over finally being able to call me his wife.

"Making love on the beach with my husband," I answer softly.

"Well, now, I think I can fulfill that part, too," he says, lowering his lips to mine.


End file.
